


The Pages Between

by Simplicity_Writes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars - SWTOR - Knights of the Fallen Empire (Game), Star Wars - The Old Republic (Game), Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Family, Fluff, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Mandalorian, Marriage, Minor Violence, Multi, Original Character(s), Other: See Story Notes, Romance, SWTOR, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, The Force, Timeline Shenanigans, Violence, kotfe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:30:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 105,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7545106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simplicity_Writes/pseuds/Simplicity_Writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torian & his Bounty Hunter-anything I put here will be spoilers haha so please check the notes if you have gotten past chapter 14 of KOTFE--as the story begins after that point! =)</p><p>I will not be following a timeline from the game, nor repeating much content from the game's storyline--though it depends on those events for a base--all the way up to Chapter 14. </p><p>I'm no Star Wars expert so I am not calling anything here canon, as I don't have enough knowledge to begin to pretend to know! Also, languages, customs, anything and everything basically are really just my vision--using the game as a springboard. If there is an existing language like Mando'a I have used that (with translations) but I don't claim to know it in a way that means I got it all right. I've done my best to relay the meaning no matter what.</p><p>PLEASE NOTE: You can hold your cursor over any of the Mando'a words in the story and the pronunciation and explanation will pop up for you! I haven't tested this on mobile yet, but it works on the computer! Translations are posted with each chapter!</p><p>Find me here: http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/<br/>Story Playlists: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCtcXjFxxiFyr0KWJfKnCoLQ/featured</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE: You can hold your cursor over any of the Mando'a words in the story and the pronunciation and explanation will pop up for you! I haven't tested this on mobile yet, but it works on the computer! 
> 
> In case that doesn't work: Chapter 1 Translations: For those who don't like to wait til the end to know what the non-english words mean (like me!) This works especially well if you open it in another window so you can just click back and forth to see the translations as you hit the words. (Right click and say "open in new tab")
> 
> WARNING: Contains spoilers of course! 
> 
> Translations: http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/post/147734320386/the-pages-between-us-chapter-1-done
> 
> Chapter Playlist https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCmzlzRgPUhErjoLfJZov2O1cLSeEFdFD

* * *

 

The wind whipped wildly around Torian, as he made his way across the camp to the planning tent where Mand'alor was waiting. While tent defined the structure, it hardly did it justice. It was a reasonably solid building, but one designed to yield to the heavy wind storms on this planet. Darvannis, a part of what once was the Hutt's holdings was his current residence, a horrible, isolated planet that was hot, sandy, and without even a single redemptive quality. Maybe the fact there were plenty of enemies to go around, but other than that...worthless.  He glanced across the compound, a handful of people gathered around a fire in the center of camp. Others were pouring in and out of the planning tent.  As it stood--"tent" was a pretty loose description of the structure. It featured stone walls and canvas and wood, having been built into a compound with multiple rooms and planning areas. One thing no one could ever accuse the Mando'ade of is not knowing how to make themselves at home where ever their adventures took them. They'd made this planet their home in just the few short months since they'd arrived, building a thriving community and a secure compound that was virtually impenetrable.   
  
He leaned into the wind as he made his way up the hill from his temporary home, in an effort to keep from being thrown off course as the current shifted from one direction to the other, the sand making a pattering sound as it hit the metal of his armor. Apparently, Mand'alor had new mission details and word was that some fresh upstart had blown in during the early morning light bringing news from beyond their communication limits as well as offering some important information that would be integral to the success of their mission. The camp had been abuzz since the first whispered words that had leaked of the offworlder's impending arrival the day before. The clan camp wasn't exactly set up in a vacation spot, so visitors were unusual enough to cause quite a stir. The few ships brave enough to deliver supplies and news to them upon occasion knew better than to tarry on this planet since they faced brutal elements and even more brutal enemies.  
  
He began going over the tactical plans for his next mission as he walked but his mind kept going back to the visitor. She was arriving from some unidentified location in the galaxy, no one seemed to know where, with some title or another meant to impress people. Torian rolled his eyes as he tried to remember the name that was mentioned...some "Commander" of some such force beyond his level of knowledge that he simply did not have time to consider with any kind of real merit. They clearly weren't much to be concerned with given the fact that she had arrived alone to this planet and not with a force to contend with the planet side threats. Irresponsible at the least, deadly at the worst. He was subject to keeping his people alive, not pandering to the soft egos of those would never understand their traditions or loyalties.  
  
They'd seen more than their fair share of faces show up--most of them with weapons or plans or offerings of one means or another that they swore would turn the tide for them. Each one of them sounded like one of Gault's get rich quick schemes and Torian refused to even attend the meetings at this point. These situations certainly weren't unique to this planet. It was a crisis across the galaxy as far as he could tell. People had been vying for power plays from every front, every faction, every race, every culture since the Eternal Empire had wreaked utter destruction on the galaxy as it had once existed. Now there was a level of desperation to all of those throwing themselves into the ring either trying to ensure the survival of their way of life, or to dominate the world they now lived in to mold and meld all life to bend to their whims.  
  
Either way, there were plenty of self-proclaimed leaders in their sector of space alone.  
  
_Stupid_ _aruetii_ _._  
  
He huffed as he remembered one of the names he had heard in the scuttle--"The Outlander". It sounded absolutely pretentious and he was baffled as to how this particular person managed to garner an audience with not just the clan advisors, but with their leader. Mand'alor rarely entertained ideas or input from those outside their gathered clans, leaving all of her advisors to sift through the nonsense and bring to her any gems that were worth consideration. Torian couldn't think of the last time anyone other than the clan advisors had even approached Mand'alor.   
  
He had to admit he had not been very in tune with what was happening around him these days. He kept his focus narrow on the missions and seldom allowed himself to be still to ward off restlessness that was sure to lead to the pain that was ever lingering.  He avoided others at all costs apart from missions and depended on the advisors and Mand'alor to tell him anything that was pertinent enough that he needed to know.  
  
It really was curiosity alone that made him respond to the message from Mand'alor...delivered as if the camp was on fire by a young  adiik who had come tearing through his doorway without knocking, breathlessly relating that the Outlander had arrived. Torian had apologized awkwardly for drawing his weapon and tackling the boy to the ground when he burst in. He helped the boy up, who was backing away and quickly relaying that not attending the meeting was "not an option" as per Mand'alor herself and then exited quicker than he had arrived.   
  
Torian couldn't hold back his frustration and kicked the chair across the room on his way back over to his makeshift desk.  
  
Mand'alor well knew that the first two hours of Torian's day were devoted to scouring through the mountains of information that was forwarded to his datapad each morning. Ever since he had dropped Mako off on Carratos every morning there would be a dump of information gathered from all over the galaxy, both the core worlds, outer rim, and sometimes even from wild space--all sent to him bundled up the best she could. Sometimes the information was somewhat organized, every once in a while a few notations were flagged by Mako to get his attention, and then sometimes it was a jumbled mess that he could get lost in for hours. He couldn't really understand how she was able to get the information to him every single day when some days the sand storms made it impossible to effectively communicate from one base to another here on planet. Still, Mako had worked her magic on the device, had done her best to teach him how to use it--he could actually perform a few rudimentary functions on it thanks to her patient instruction--and every single morning he would spend a few hours scouring through the data he would receive from her on the chance _her_ name had popped up somewhere…anywhere.  
  
He was about 45 minutes into his routine, going through the data skimmed off of the Corellian Trade Route when he had been interrupted with the summons. He took under serious consideration completely blowing her off and apologizing later--as he knew it would not even matter to her if he was there, at least not normally, as he'd dodged many "mandatory" meetings in the past. But, this time the message included the word  "ke'gyce" a polite way to issue a direct order. He'd packed up the datapad reluctantly and went a little slower than he needed to thanks to the high level of agitation he was feeling while going through his morning routine, taking far longer than he needed to secure his armor and stow his gear in the lockbox.  
  
The last few months had been filled with far too many meetings with far too many words. To him at least, it felt like they spent an extraordinary amount of time talking and not nearly enough time doing. The level of politics and dissension among the clans in recent days was not something he desired to be a part of. He wanted to fight. It was the only time he felt alive.  
  
He ducked his head down toward his chest, realizing he should have worn his helmet to cross the sand swept camp. It would have afforded his eyes some measure of protection, and would have certainly soothed the bitter sting of the sand against his face. Still. It was good to feel something. Anything, even if it was pain. Over time his life had felt relegated to simply moving from one place of numbness to another and then yet to another. Physically changing locations, but nothing really changing about where he was in his mind. In his heart.   
  
He turned his head sharply toward the ongoing sand storm, briefly closing his eyes, letting the grains dust sharply on his face, relishing the moment of relief that the pain afforded him. To think only of it, a tiny manifestation, to distract him from where his thoughts were heading. He needed his head in the game today--no room for walking in the past.  
  
He was trying.   
  
He had mastered putting his feelings about his life up to this point in iron clad boxes. He knew that to give them any power, no matter how small, in his day to day life would mean he would become useless to his people. He was regarded as more machine than man these days, so exacting were his actions. Physical limits held no value to him. His open attitude about the state of being he was in didn't create vulnerability. Instead, it merited one of two responses. Fear, or envy. Fear that he was just far enough off the hinges that he would do pretty much anything--which unquestionably caused a lot of unease in everyone around him. Envy of what others mistakenly viewed as bravery and unwavering honor, which really was nothing more than a desperate attempt to occupy his body, mind and soul.  
  
He had been going off the rails internally long enough to realize he was broken, completely and utterly. Even the most stoic Mando'ade had some level of self-preservation in light of serving their clan. Not a fear of death, certainly not that, but they worked smart, fought smart. He knew he was reckless and brash in his methods. No doubt many of his vod were uncertain about being sent on a mission with him since he was unpredictable in battle. Cold. Calculated. Most were wholly terrified of him....which is saying a lot when your entire people had their reputation built on their fierce warrior attributes.  
  
Admittedly, he was fully aware if he had been on the outside looking in he would see the same picture they did. He hadn't always been this way. He wasn't always this hardened. It happened so gradually that he hadn't even noticed. It wasn't until things had gone too far inside of himself that anyone else realized something was a little off about that aruetii turned ori'ramikad kid. Truth be told, he hadn't even realized how compartmentalized his thoughts were. Even when he was scouring through the holodata he was not thinking with purpose about _her_. Finding a level of detachment he was able to search the way one might research information about someone else's cousin. Nothing personal. Nothing ventured.  
  
Nothing could have prepared him for the day his walls tumbled down.

 

* * *

  
  
It had been a mission with at least twenty warriors going in to rescue two of their vode who were trapped behind enemy lines. Despite a promising start, Torian watched as his brothers and sisters fell under the hands of the enemy one by one. There were only four of them left when Fett's voice sounded in the comms telling them to retreat. They would regroup and coordinate another attack so they would not be so underpowered and outnumbered.  
  
The order washed over Torian in a way that screamed only one thought.  
  
_No_.   
  
It was as if a rubber band that had been stretched too far with time and age causing it to be brittle and weak and then it snapped. He wasn't walking out of this mission without those two captives.  They would not lose one more of their people to this war.  
  
_Not. One. More_.  
  
He ignored the voice in his ear, pushing forward to the next barricade of droids.  
  
The angry baritone of Fett in his ear was muffled by the sound of the dual blades in his electrostaff shooting out on each end, the blue current buzzing over the metal, the metallic noise that was impossible to describe but was a part of the intricate song of death that his actions created, a war cry echoing through the valley, as he took off the head of the droid closest to him. Turning his body, kicking his leg out to knock the second off balance as he buried his blade to the chest of the third. He grunted with satisfaction as the machine snapped and buzzed, shaking violently as it's circuits were fried, standing there like it was shocked at the outcome. Torian jerked his weapon backward and quickly sent the droids head flying across the sand. The other droid he had knocked to the ground was shifting to aim his weapon straight at his head.  
  
_That's cute._  
  
He swerved and then pitched himself forward landing with the blade going through the chest of the droid all the way up to his hand. The electric vibrations buzzing through his arm as he sneered at the droid's face where smoke was starting to seep through the edges.   
  
He stood up, putting his foot on the droid, keeping it in place as he removed his weapon. He kicked it for good measure, denting in the side and sending parts scattering, then looked up to the next barricade to measure the distance and how much time it would take him to get there. Before he could step forward Fett's voice was back. A litany of swear words, both Basic and Mando'a, filling his ear as he threatened him if he didn't turn back as ordered.  
  
Fett's frenzied voice was drowned out by some interference, static and clicking noises, followed the shrill sound of Mand'alor issuing an unquestionable order, directly to him.  
  
"Cadera!  Ne shab'rud'ni! You will turn back and return to camp immediately!"  
  
When he did not answer the line went silent and he thought maybe they had cut the lines. That would be good. He wasn't in the mood to listen to them yell at him anyway--he continued heading toward the next barricade.   
  
He'd only been able to take two steps when the line crackled in his ears, a low, ominous voice seething. He could hear the absolute fury permeating every syllable.   
  
"Haar'chak, Torian! If you do not turn back I will kill you myself."  
  
A statement. A fact. It should have brought him into line. Before this moment it most certainly would have. He had never been anything at all if not an obedient Mando'ade--yet, in this moment, instead of causing him to relent and obey--it fueled him. He stood frozen. A single beat.  
  
_Rangir!_  
  
In a single moment his mind washed with the madness of the last four years, flashing through all of the nightmares he had woken up from--holding her bloody, mangled body, screaming as the last breath washed out of her. Sometimes she was torn into pieces, hacked apart with light saber wounds. Other times she was scored with bullets and burns. Too often, she just appeared whole and normal in his arms until the crimson red of her life began to trickle from her nose and mouth, and then the gurgling sound of her choking on her own blood as her internal wounds took her. Always arriving one moment too late. Searching for days and days inside his dreams for her, every room empty, every sound just a blank echo into the nothingness. He would wake from those dreams and punch something--hard. His hand had been broken several times from the force of these acts of frustration--but he never even stopped to notice. The pain was a reminder. Never forget. Never stop looking. And then the other dreams--the ones where she visited him--her voice real and alive, like silk covered air touching him and enveloping him in the warm velvet softness of it--covering him...making him whole. Her presence so real, so tangible, so perfectly his beloved--and then he would wake up, and already, before he had even gained full consciousness he would be screaming wildly, thrashing in his sleep. Having spent his entire life up until this point compartmentalizing his personal issues, putting each issue that might be a barrier to his success as a Mando'ade locked tightly away--he was well versed at composing himself quickly and using his discipline to push away the dreams so he could function, to breathe. The others found his behavior so disturbing eventually he moved out of the common quarters and found a small niche in the lower quadrant of the compound where he could be alone with his demons and still be protected by the clans.   
  
He was positive they approved of his choices as no one ever came to look for him, and at least there in his private sanctuary he didn't have to pretend to be okay. He was not okay. During the day he was a loyal, brave, unrelenting Mando'ade, at night he was a man tortured by what was and what would never be. He was masterful at self control and discipline when he was conscious but when he was left to the wicked torture of his unbridled subconscious he was just a victim along for the ride. It was too much, these two different lives, two different people living inside of him.  
  
_I am done._  
  
He looked forward to see that the next barrier with what appeared to be three more war droids who were far out of shooting distance and turned his back to them, knowing that he would hear the slightest movement if they advanced so honed were his senses, turning to face the direction of Mand'alor, somewhere beyond his line of vision, knowing that she was not only looking at him, but that she had a scope trained on him as the threat left her mouth.  
  
He stretched his hands straight out to the side, his palms facing upward. An act of surrender. A bold invitation. He stood solidly still--waiting for the blast to bolt through him. He waited twenty more seconds. It never came.   
  
_Stupid di'kut\--can't even be executed properly._  
  
Exasperated, he threw his hands up in the air, shaking his head, completely furious, stomping his boots deep in the sand, his hands slapping his chest and then beckoning her, knowing that his message was more than clear without the use of words.  Bring it or shut it. There was no in between for him. There were no more gray areas in his life, no room for any uncertainty anymore.  
  
He was disobeying a direct order from Mand'alor. The time for caution was far past.  
  
It was that moment that he considered he might be losing his mind. Losing. Lost. Who knew?  
  
The line started to crackle again, and before he could hear the next barrage of threats he jerked his helmet off, tossing it in the sand away from him like it was a living thing bent on driving him to distraction. He closed his eyes and for a moment it felt like _she_ was with him. Like he could sense _her_ being there, heavy, and warm around him. Different than the dry, thick air of the planet. He took a deep breath, centering himself, turning back to the barricade and tearing forward he was like a demon set loose upon the desert. He flew through the air taking out two droids in his first stroke, his body feeling more alive than it had in years. Metal shards, wiring and circuits littering his path toward the entryway to the compound where his vod were.  
  
He killed fifty-six enemies that day, alone, leaving the compound burning in its solitude, ripples of smoke darkening the brown skies making the sand in the wind appear to dance.    
  
He delivered the two warriors safely into Mand'alor's tent. He held his head straight up, his shoulders squared, no defeat or concern in his stance, hard lined as it was. He had spent most of his life as an aruetii, thanks to his own father's disobedience to Mand'alor the Vindicated, and now he was walking upon that same broken path of self destruction. He had spent years proving himself, had finally cleared his name, wrenched his name free from the beaten down status it was in and bringing honor to it again. His dreams were filled with the future of his Clan at one point.  
  
_Clan Cadera._  
  
Today he knew as sure as he knew his own skin that he had thrown that away--but the cause, it felt worth it. He knew two other families would spark and burn through the history of their people because he gave up his own. Even now, facing down the judgment of Mand'alor herself he  _still_ would make the same choice again. It was doubtful that anyone in the entire camp was unaware of his dishonor now. Their customs dictated the penalty, as any level of insubordination would undermine Mand'alor's authority and make others consider it something that could be done. The clans were having enough trouble as it was without power plays for leadership. He knew what was going to happen next, his execution would come swiftly. Whatever nerve she was lacking in the desert would not stop her here in her own domain.

 

 

* * *

 

Torian fell to the ground again, on his hands and knees gasping for breath as the red of his blood splattered on the dirty ground, causing odd patterns on the rough surface there. Shaking uncontrollably, coughs wracking his body as he attempted to breath through the thick blood blocking the way. He couldn't see clearly, one eye had already swelled shut and the other was too watery to make anything out with any clarity. He turned his head trying to see where Mand'alor had moved, his senses were going haywire under the stress his body was in, when a knee landed in the square of his back slamming him to the ground with such force the air in his lungs released violently, pain radiating through his chest that caused his toes to curl, his hands to cringe in on themselves.  
  
Her hand reached roughly around his face to rest under his chin, the other pulling his hair, jerking his head upward and back. He couldn't stop the strange noise that his body made.  
  
Angry, hot, hissed words echoed faintly through the throbbing in his ears.  
  
"Fight back you hut'uun! There is no honor in suicide."  
  
He tried to breath, shallow breaths taking too much effort, in and out, too fast, too fast, trying hard to understand what she had just said. Suicide. It was true, all honor was lost in suicide.   
  
She dropped his head back down, his face landing hard on the dirt, bouncing once before settling down in the cool wetness of his own blood as she stood up to finally deliver the killing blow.  Peace was coming.  
  
Lifting weakly up, his arms shaking and unsteady, as he spit a glob of blood out on the floor by her feet.  
  
"Nar'sheb, shabuir."  
  
Oh yes, there was no mistaking that he was choosing every word with care so that the impact would incite Mand'alor to further violence. He had been doing it from the moment he hit the floor trying to enrage her enough that she would just finish this once and for all. He couldn't understand what she was waiting for, other than to hear him beg. Perhaps she thought he would beg for mercy. She was wrong. He would beg for deliverance. Death was the only mercy left in this life for him.  
  
Yet, her feet were still planted firmly in front of him.   
  
He struggled, the pain in his body rebelling, protesting against his movements--gritting his teeth to remain silent, tasting fresh blood in his mouth as he bit his tongue--allowing ribs to puncture, allowing fragments to twist and snap as he drew himself up shakily to his knees, his sight nearly blinded in his good eye by the blood that was streaming from a wound on his forehead. He was shaking all over, involuntary no matter how much he was trying to control his body's response to death. He would face death in the eyes.  
  
"Pirunir sur'haaise."  
  
His bravado fell as another wave of pain shot through his mangled body. His head dropped down to lay on his chest, a feeling like he might lose consciousness washing through him.  
  
"Gedet'ye, Mand'alor," he whispered softly.  
  
Mand'alor squatted down in front of him, leaning her head down trying to see his face.   
  
_Why is she waiting?_  
  
He had been thoroughly confused when Mand'alor ordered everyone out of the planning center, walking him to the back of the compound to a room that was clearly designed for the exacting purpose of teaching any wayward Mando'ade how things really worked.  
  
He was thankful now that he was staring down at the dirt floor into his own mortality. Weak and feeling small--he was thankful for the undeserved act of respect. It was normal to take a rebelling Mando'ade out into the camp and make a public example of them. But now, at the end of the struggle--he was glad to be in private as he felt a revelation there in the final few moments of his life.  
  
_It is nearly over._  
  
All of it, the pain, the heartache, the nightmares, the stress, the worry, the fear, all of the beautiful possibilities lost to him forever. The unknowing. It was coming to an end.  
  
And there at the end of it all he realized he had no need to pretend.  
  
There was no one there but Mand'alor and she couldn't possibly hold him in lower esteem. No, there was no one to be stoic for, no need to downplay his suffering. He would not hide or cover or mute the deep despair of his heart, not here in his last breaths.  
  
The moment he thought it, his body reared up as if he were a puppet on strings, and then tumbled backwards onto the ground violently, wracked with the impact of his emotions long held captive.  
  
_Gar serim, let it come._  
  
The universe would be party to his pain, and he opened his mind fully to release his long tempered grief. He unlocked the deeply held prison of memories, of the forfeit dreams, of the missing pieces of who he once was. The dungeon walls crumbled, releasing the powerful demons kept wild and gnashing behind the gates for these long years. Deep, mournful sounds came from somewhere inside of him, working through the innermost parts of his being to be released after such long slumber, the sound that came from him something otherworldly, something that didn't belong to a man but a beast in the throes of torture and death. His body convulsed with the pain that ran from the depths of his soul, radiating outward, and rending it into a million shards.  Each miniscule part of his pain being voiced in the sounds of agonizing grief. His entire being felt as it if were ripping in to pieces, flayed open, raw and demanding that it be recognized.  He tried in vain to lift himself up off the ground, as the contents of his stomach were violently expelled, mixing with his blood on the ground.  
  
He couldn't move, couldn't breath, the pain was sharp, tangled edges of barbed wire and salt ripping from every corner of his being. His body doubled over, lurching to curl in on itself, an instinctive response to his impending death, even in this moment the will struggled to live on. Curled tightly, body shaking and heaving under the weight of his released heartache.  
  
Mand'alor stood over him, completely still in her inventory of his current state. This was as broken of a man as she had ever seen. Not just the physical manifestations that had come from her response to his disrespect...but broken internally. His  mandokarla was broken. She had reserved the right to decide whether he would live or die by her hand. Her anger at his refusal to at least respond with dignity to her punishment had driven her to go almost to the brink of death. She realized too late that it was actually what he wanted. That she was being played. It had made her enraged, and then more than that, it made her curious.  
  
Then something happened and it was like the air in the room was sucked out and all there was left was a dark, heavy, thick emotion that was death incarnate. It was like a living, breathing thing in the room with them.    
  
And then the noise came, the noise of a million nightmares, wracked his body, wrenching it this way and that as it poured out of him like a man possessed loosened of his demons. It chilled her to the bone, causing her to step back, away from him, away from the stifling presence around him that seemed to grow more and more despondent by the minute. She had been present at the death of too many to count. Peaceful, horrific, quick, slow and painful. Nothing like this.  
  
She walked slowly around him trying to make sense of what was happening.   
  
What had happened.  
  
He had been one of the most promising warriors she had ever met--certainly, he had no idea she had even taken notice of him--but notice she had, and there was such a future for him. She couldn't even count the number of young Mando'ade who would do their best to get her praise, her attention, desperate for it. Torian never did that. He was quiet, a man of few words, but when he spoke you listened. He was driven, focused, absolute in his devotion and dedication to not just her but all of the codes, traditions and customs of their society. He grew up with something to prove, long before he caught her attention, and he had proven it on a planet called Taris. She knew of his history, at least that of his father's disloyalty and that he had slain him to regain his clan's honor. After that he was rarely seen or mentioned in the clans, having taken off to find his own way.  Then he answered her call, showing up one day almost four years prior, quickly becoming one of her most promising. He was a perfect Mandalorian warrior.  
  
Maybe too perfect, she considered now, watching him slowly quiet down, still moaning, a guttural sound from inside, and then slowly, he grew still and silent, face tilted toward the light, blood and mucus on the ground around him, a stark contrast to his blond hair. His body shaking here and there in spasm of whatever was happening inside of him. She'd seen enough to not be phased by physical responses to death. Still she wasn't prepared for his emotional response, his face contorted in a horrible ugly way momentarily, as if the pain was finding its peak. As if something was torturing him though he wasn't being touched.

The only sound in the room was in Torian's own ears. Words, thoughts, memories, repeated. Yes. This was suicide. He realized it now. He wanted to die. Could not live without her. The universe was dark and cold and without any soul with her missing from it. The knowledge calmed him somehow. He gave himself over to the memories, wading through them quickly, knowing his time was short.  
  
Mand'alor squatted down next to Torian's head, as close as she dared, knowing that the stillness of a hurt animal could be deceptive and that in their last throes of death they could become far more dangerous than they were at the peak of their health. The body's last resort, it's last effort to stay alive. She pushed her hair behind her ears looking him over, accessing his condition to decide how to proceed. She was puzzled when his face suddenly appeared to relax, the lines settling, smoothing out in a kind of peace that was out of place in this time and place. A face of contentment, still etched with pain around the edges, but resigned, almost completely, so close to being an expression of happiness.  
  
She drew back at the sight of the tears that began to drip down the sides of his face, tempering her odd instinct of wanting to wipe them away.  
  
Torian felt tears pooling and then dropping to mingle with the blood and bile under his head. Sweet release, relief. They poured from him, like the memories pouring through his mind. Steady, heavy. Her face, her beautiful face, so clear to him that it felt she must be standing right in front of him. He focused on it, her smile, the twinkle in her eyes, his love, his life, the tears still flowing, bringing her face to a clarity and precision in his mind so that at the instant of his death she would be with him. He felt fading. A darkness approaching.  
  
She was glad she had ordered everyone out. It was calculated. A hope that he could be reasoned with and she could punish him justly and still teach him, lead, guide him. Despite what most considered the role of the Mand'alor, perhaps only those in the position understood, there was a fine line that existed in just punishment, and usable lessons. It was a brilliant leader who knew when to use which one. She didn't want witnesses to his punishment, whether it had ended in death or not. In fact, when she had realized that he was moving forward after Fett's order, she cut all comms except for his, Torian's and hers. Eventually, she cut Fett's as well, something he pitched an oversized pir'ekulor fit over.   
  
Once Torian had went past the point she could see him, she had returned to camp.  
  
She had the time to process the event and decide how she was going to handle it. She would lie. Whether Torian was successful, a highly improbable outcome, or died trying--his return would be one of victory, and of honor. He had been through enough speculation, unfair treatment, borderline abuse through his childhood. She wouldn't contribute to another moment of it. That wasn't her role. Despite her bitter anger at his disobedience, she felt an odd sense of needing to protect him. It was off putting, but undeniable.  
  
As she had approached the command center, Fett was there pacing, heels stomping the ground, his hands clenching and unclenching. He had confronted her then, asking what she planned to do with the aruetii.  She responded loudly enough that the entire camp would hear it--that she would be doing nothing, he had come to an agreement with her on how he would proceed and was acting under her authority.  Her stance was defiant. Daring. Challenging.   
  
She had to stop herself from laughing at the way Fett's face went a terrible shade of red, looking as if he were going to explode any second. She watched him as he struggled with correcting her version of the story, but slowly, he settled himself, nodding a curt agreement and walking away. She would have to deal with him later she was sure, but he was wise enough to know confronting her publicly wasn't in either of their best interest.  
  
She wasn't sure why she had done what she had. She saw something in Torian, when he had turned, toward her, and knowing that she could put a bullet through his heart at that very moment, and would have been justified to do so. There was just something there. In his eyes. In his challenge. She couldn't have put her finger on it but it was becoming pretty clear now. Something had broken him and he had kept it at bay for as long as he could.   
  
She held her breath, broken from her thoughts, when he started whispering words, her curiosity maddening as she leaned ever closer weighing the risks carefully but the desire to know what he was saying winning out.   
  
"Cyare, Riduur...ner Cyar'ika..."  
  
"Laandur ca'nara, gedet'ye, gedet'ye, mhi solus tome...tome..."  
  
"Ner Raeyn, Riduur, skotah ca'nara...kar'taylir darasuum...Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."  
  
At this Mand'alor jerked back a bit, steadying herself with her hands. Raeyn? Could it be? She was working through the puzzle in her mind.  
  
"Yaimpar, Cyare, gedet'ye, linibar yaimpar bah ni...gedet'ye Xaraeyn"  
  
Understanding settled over her like a cold waterfall--remembering a challenge from a rising star in the Empire, a young lady who certainly had a lot to prove and had proven it those many moons ago on Rishi when she had the nerve to walk straight into the center of their arena and challenge her house. The Champion of the Great Hunt, Raeyn, and her unnamed companion. The two of them fought like a well oiled machine, beautiful, exacting, and utterly lethal. Their strength, unity, and skill was exquisite. She had thrown out her best to them, the best challenges, and then the best couple her clan could offer--a testimony of bonded strength--except next to the Champion and her companion they looked like virtual strangers. It was clear they were married, it was true enough that after years a team can create a good rhythm to their fighting style--but this was something completely _other_. It wasn't a rhythm, it wasn't a style...it was more like they were bound together, tethered by some unseen bond--and it wasn't platonic--clearly the result of a strong  riduurok. The emotional connection felt like a tangible force in the room, a rising, pulsing spark. It showed in every movement, every breath. One of them would have been a formidable opponent on their own--but together, they were insurmountable. That force moving around them binding and drawing them, their movements like a graceful dance, and their precision unerring. She had been proud to yield to them at the end, humbled by them. They could have beaten her. Her whole clan, all of House Vizsla--but they hadn't been there for anything other than negotiations for a partnership, something she had flat out denied. After they had left her curiosity had gotten the best of her and she had dug around to get some information on the two of them, determining that their armor was indeed beskar upon close inspection, and signaled that they were both Mandalorian--though she did not know either of them by sight since they wore their helmets and had no distinguishing marks other than the colors of their armor which she did not recognize.  
  
"Gedet'ye, Cyar'ika, Mando'ad draar digu..."  
  
"Aay'han, mar'e, tome..."  
  
It had been a short while after that when she heard through the scuttle that Raeyn had been lost in the first battle with the Eternal Empire along with Darth Marr and no one had any hope of finding them. Word of this was always followed with the way her crew had been hell bent on finding her and had torn through multiple planets looking for her. Eventually, she heard that they had given up...resigned to the idea that she was gone, the holonet was riddled with pictures of her, and her crew...and there was always a Mandalorian there--always in full armor like he was ready to take out the universe to find her. Memorials set up, mourning periods--but no one had any real time to stay focused on what was--war had been declared and it was going to require everyone--no matter who they were or what they had lost to come together to fight for their lives. She'd lost track of the story at some point while trying to fight the new fight.  
  
She understood now that Torian was that companion. She saw it now. It was so clear and she hated herself for not seeing this sooner--maybe she could have helped him. His Riduur was the Grand Champion--Raeyn.  Everything made sense.  
  
"Nu draar dar'tome tug'yc...gedet'ye...Cyare..."  
  
She steeled herself, hoping that her decision was the right one. Reaching out, pinching a nerve in his neck rendering him completely unconscious.  
  
He felt a sharp pain in his neck and then he was gone. Death was quiet. There were no dreams there. He was thankful for the darkness.   
  
His body fell silent and still, only the struggling rattling of his breathing and the occasional jerking nerve as his body tried to inventory its injuries. Responding to pain he could no longer feel.

Mand'alor walked out of the room to get her personal medics. She trusted them and knew they would be discreet in their handling as per her instructions. Handling Fett was going to be something else altogether, but she would figure that out when it was necessary. Right now all she knew was that he was going to be in a lot of pain when woke up. She hesitantly admitted, that she wasn't completely sure he would wake up. Her medics were good, but they might not be that good, and if he did survive they certainly didn't have any protocol for mending a broken heart.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my first chapter! I'd adore any comments, feedback, or even corrections! (again, no Mando'a expert here haha) THANK YOU for honoring me by taking time to read this! <3
> 
> _________________________ 
> 
> The Translations:
> 
> aruetii [ah-roo-AY-tee] -- traitor
> 
> adiik [AH-deek] -- child aged 3 to 13
> 
> ke'gyce [keh-GHEE-shay] -- order, command
> 
> ori'ramikad [OH-ree-RAHM-ee-kahd] -- supercommando (Mandalorian designation of elite special forces)
> 
> shab'rud'ni [Neh shab-ROOD-nee] -- Don't mess with me (extremely strong warning - much stronger than jurkadir - and likely to be followed by violence)
> 
> haar'chak [HAR-chak] -- Damn it!
> 
> rangir [RAN-geer] -- To hell with it!
> 
> di'kut [DEE-koot] -- idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)
> 
> hut'uun [hoo-TOON] -- coward (worst possible insult)
> 
> nar'sheb, shabuir [NAR-sheb, SHAH-boo-EER] Contemptuous, extreme insult--along the lines of "Shove it, jerk" but much STRONGER.
> 
> pirunir sur'haaise [PEER-oo-NEER soor-HIE-say] -- make their eyes water (slang for kill, injure or defeat)
> 
> gedet'ye [Geh-DET-yay] -- Please
> 
> gar serim [Gar sair-EEM] *Yes, youíre right.* *That's it.*
> 
> mandokarla [MAN-doh-KAR-lah] -- having the *right stuff*, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue
> 
> pir'ekulor [PEER-ek-OO-lor] -- weep
> 
> ____
> 
> "Cyare, Riduur...ner Cyar'ika..."
> 
> cyare[SHAH-ray, REE-door...nair shar-EE-kah ]
> 
> "Beloved, wife...my darling..."  
>  ____
> 
> "Laandur ca'nara, gedet'ye, gedet'ye, mhi solus tome...tome..."
> 
> [LAHN-doo-er KAH-nah-RAH, Geh-DET-yay, Geh-DET-yay, mee SOH-loos TOH-may...TOH-may]
> 
> "Time is fragile, please, please, we are one together...together..."  
> ____
> 
> "Ner Raeyn, Riduur, skotah ca'nara...Ner kar'taylir darasuum...Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."
> 
> [nair Raeyn, REE-door, SKOH-tah KAH-nah-RAH...nair kat-tay-LEER da-RAH-soom...nee kar-TILE garh dah-RAH-soom]
> 
> "My Raeyn, wife, time is short, my love, I know you forever."
> 
> ____
> 
> "Yaimpar, Cyare, gedet'ye, linibar yaimpar bah ni...gedet'ye Xaraeyn"
> 
> [yay-EEM-par, SHAH-ray, Geh-DET-yay, lee-NEE bar yay-EEM-par bah ni...Geh-DET-yay Xaraeyn"
> 
> "Return, beloved, please, I need you to return to me...please Xarayn"
> 
> ____
> 
> riduurok [ree-DOO-rok] -- love bond, specifically between spouses - marriage agreement
> 
> beskar [BESK-gar] -- Mandalorian iron
> 
> ____
> 
> "Gedet'ye, Cyar'ika, Mando'ad draar digu..."
> 
> [Geh-DET-yay, shar-EE-kah, Man-DOH-ad drahr dee-GOO] 
> 
> "Please, sweetheart, a Mandalorian never forgets."  
> ____
> 
> "Aay'han, mar'e, tome..."
> 
> [AY-ye-haan, MAH-ray, TOH-may] 
> 
> bittersweet perfect moment of mourning and joy - *remembering and celebrating* at last together -- meaning -- "These sweet memories make me happy, at last, we're together"
> 
> ____
> 
> "Nu draar dar'tome tug'yc...gedet'ye...Cyare..."
> 
> [noo DRAR dar-TOH-may too-GEESH...ge-DET-yay...SHAH-ray] 
> 
> "Let us never be separated again...please...beloved..."


	2. Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...please note my tags..."Timeline Shenanigans". I promise I'm taking you on a journey through these character's story--and the timeline is not in order. It will all make sense, if you trust me! <3
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: You can hold your cursor over any of the Mando'a words in the story and the pronunciation and explanation will pop up for you! I haven't tested this on mobile yet, but it works on the computer!
> 
> In case that doesn't work: Chapter 2 Translations: For those who don't like to wait til the end to know what the non-english words mean (like me!) This works especially well if you open it in another window so you can just click back and forth to see the translations as you hit the words. (Right click and say "open in new tab")
> 
> WARNING: Contains spoilers of course!
> 
> Translations: http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/post/147887229951/the-pages-between-chapter-2-gone
> 
> Chapter Playlist https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCtcXjFxxiFyr0KWJfKnCoLQ/featured
> 
> My Tumblr: http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/

* * *

 

 

“Are you there? We need a hand--droids blew out the airlock and fused the docking clamps--we can't come in or take off.” Mako was as calm as she could be given the way the situation had changed from something simple, practically routine, even if it did involve Darth Marr--into something that was nothing short of complete annihilation, it was as if the gates of hell had ripped right off the hinge.

“I’m on my way! Get the ship ready to disengage!”

Raeyn quickly dispatched a skytrooper who was standing between her and the ship. She turned the corner of the hallway where the ship was docked, slamming her hand on the airlock release button, filled with relief when the mechanism started to move.

The breath she didn’t know she was holding burst out of Mako’s chest when she heard the tell-tale groaning of the locking clips releasing the ship. She stood up and turned to look back through the ship so she could pull away the second Raeyn was on board. There was no movement. There was no noise of the airlock opening. She could hear Torian on the guns firing at the enemy ships that kept sweeping past them, Gault harassing…or ‘helping’ him in the only fashion he knew—but no sign of Raeyn.

Raeyn stopped abruptly after she turned the corner, raging fire blasting heat down the tunnel, turning her head to take a breath of the cool air from behind her, examining the state of the entryway to the ship—debris, part of a fallen archway, and what appeared to be an insurmountable wall of fire stood between her and the Mantis.

She turned her back on the ship, her heart caught in her throat.

_Calm. Calm. Be calm. They are going to be okay. Torian will be okay. You can do this._

She closed her eyes for a moment…forcing herself to breath in deeply. Centering herself, finding her focus.

“Where are you? I’ve got her ready to jet!” Mako tried to keep the trill out of her voice that would make Raeyn worry about her.

“If you see an opening to escape, take it. Someone has to make it back to civilization.” She tried to sound light. To keep the dread out of her tone. To be casual. She was pretty sure Mako wasn’t going to buy it.

_Torian has to live. They all do. I brought them here._

“I want you to get out of here.” It sounded to her own ears like she was asking her to pass the bottle at the cantina, not telling her to leave.

“W—what?” Mako was shaking her head, “Hold on….what are you talking about?

_We don’t have time for this. So much for the nice way._

“Get out of here. I’m serious. I want you to go,” she opened her eyes looking down the hallway to the long shadows cast on the walls of the fire and saw the flickering movement that meant someone was going to be passing by her fairly soon. The sound of fighting growing closer every second.

“Now!”

Mako scoffed, stomping her foot, “we most certainly will not!”

_Honesty then?_

"Mako, listen to me,” Raeyn’s voice was solid, heavy, and Mako could hear the chaos that was on the other side of the ship wall, she heard Raeyn take a deep breath, “I need you all safe." The note of disconnect that edged in at the end of the sentence made Mako still completely. Like Raeyn was saying goodbye…already planning her own funeral.

"No! We are not leaving you behind!" Mako cried out, appalled at the very suggestion that they should leave to get to safety while Raeyn remained onboard Marr's vessel.

"You are. Get moving--fast."

"Blasted, stubborn....if we do leave you'd better be right behind us,” Mako hit the console in frustration, “I mean it!"

Raeyn's voice was low, clear, and concise, "I am not your friend right now, Mako, I am not your 'Boss', I am your Captain. I am giving you an order. Leave."

Mako flinched at the tone of finality in Raeyn's voice. She didn't often make demands, and even less issued what could be perceived as direct orders. She hated to be told what to do, so generally refused to tell others what to do, allowing her crew to be equals on their ship--allowing them to call her "Boss" instead of some other more pretentious names, but the name was mostly figurative, certainly not literal given the way Raeyn ran her ship--and that had worked up until this moment at least. Mako considered arguing, especially about the fact that Raeyn decided to pull the "Captain card" now of all times--but looking out the window she could see that the odds of any of them surviving at all diminished every second they delayed, even if it was a righteous cause.

‘Frakkin fine! But you better be okay! I am not even kidding! Promise me!” She took her frustration out on the directional lever, slamming it backwards, flipping the airlock seal toggle harder than she needed, so she could move the ship away from the docking clamps to start turning the ship.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep…you know me better than that.”

Raeyn turned to watch as the locking clamps released, seeing her ship shake as Mako began moving. Satisfied that they were going to get out of the immediate danger she took out her Mantis tuned earpiece, glancing back at the vessel which was making a slow and steady detachment from the connectors, and dropped it to the ground, stomping it with the heel of her boot.

_They don’t need to be here for this._

She wanted to watch until they had moved far enough away to safety but she could hear the sound of fighting in the adjacent hallway, five more steps and they would be on top of her. She reluctantly turned away from the airlock, taking a deep breath, drawing her blasters, charging back into battle.

Mako slapped at the volume switches when the comms link made some odd tinny noises followed by an ear shattering high pitched sound, then silence. Mako tried to signal to Raeyn a few times, testing the line and realized it had not just been turned off, but severed. She didn't have time to be angry about that right now. Slamming her foot against the console would have to do.

It was with no small amount of uncertainty and guilt that she nodded to herself, resolved to do what was needed, if she couldn’t help Raeyn at least she could keep the rest of the crew safe, starting the routine to prepare the ship for the jump. Keeping the ship close to the Flagship in hopes of not being noticed before they were ready to move into a cleared position.

She turned when she heard a commotion coming from the other end of the ship where Torian had been manning the gun turrets, a loud scuffle clattering through the ship moving closer to the bridge, crazy sounds and even crazier threats, sounding to all the world like someone was ripping the walls of the ship down around them.

She glanced at the communications panel and saw that the shipwide intercom was lit up....she realized with a sinking feeling that it had been on the entire time, "Kriff!" She slapped the intercom off, speeding up her preparations. Torian had heard everything.

There was a deafening crash followed by a yelp from Gault and then was silent. Mako felt terrible for factoring the probability that he had fallen down the stairs and had broken something. Like his neck. Some days she cursed her analytical mind filled with numbers and computations--and ways Gault could die by complete accident.

She glanced behind her to see Torian tearing across the ship, leaping across the stairwell, barreling toward her like a long caged animal finally set free.

"Stop, Mako! Don't do it!" The tone of his voice left little room to question whether he was willing to negotiate the outcome of this situation, sharp as a knife.

"I'm obeying orders!" she all but screamed behind her before frantically trying to figure out a way to make the blasted ship be ready faster.

"Come on, come on...come on!!!!" Her hands were tapping wildly on the console; fully aware it would not make it accelerate. Torian had rounded the corner to the stairs leading up to the bridge, Mako's eyes widening when she saw the crazed look on his face.

It was one of the times she wished there was not only a door, but also a lock to the bridge's entry way. The other was the unfortunate moment of walking in on Torian and Raeyn shortly after the wedding. Newlyweds. She shuddered. She wanted to bleach her eyes after that unfortunate moment. She never walked into the bridge without loudly announcing herself again, ever.

She shook away the memory, furiously smashing buttons, hands trembling while she watched the meter slowly rising to signal when the ship was ready for the jump. Torian crashed through the doorway, the fire extinguisher clattering to the floor and sliding into the far bulkhead when he veered sideways, slamming against the frame. She flinched as the metal box that contained their first aid emergency kit went crashing off the pegs that held it, Torian kicking it as he burst through. She stood up then, tall as she could, mustering all of her courage and thinking thoughts of being very formidable, placing herself in front of the controls to ensure that he could not reach them without moving her out of the way.

"We are not leaving her! Are you insane?!" Torian's voice held so many emotions. Familiar ones like frustration, anger, and loyalty...but it also held notes of desperation, combined with another she couldn't quite put her finger on...though if she had to name it she'd probably call it murderous. She really did wonder about Gault now.

He darted forward, feinting left, trying to trick her but she was too fast. She blocked him quickly, her voice rising, attempting to make eye contact, moving and ducking trying to force him to look at her--to snap him out of this. She tried to push him back. It was like struggling with a brick wall. He was towering over her, his face etched with hard lines and anger. He was absolutely crazed and she knew it would be simple enough for him to just toss her aside and do whatever he wanted with the ship.

She was somewhat comforted by the knowledge that he was a little too much like a big brother to her, making her more brave than she probably should have been. Secure in the fact that she was mostly safe from his wrath. Mostly.

"I don't want to hurt you! Ori'haat! Mako, shaadlar!" His voice was so loud in the confined space it made her cringe, the cybernetics in her ear squealing from the reverberation bouncing off the walls.

"MOVE!" Torian thundered, a single word from his mouth laced with unbeliveable rage, his nose nearly touching hers.

She gathering herself--putting her hands on his chest, pushing, her feet anchored on the kickplate of the console to give her some leverage. His hands were around each of her arms as if to simply pick her up and move her to the side.

"I am obeying orders, Torian," she responded in the strongest voice she could manage, almost embarrassingly weak sounding next to his, "you need to stand down and let me do my job! Captain's orders!"

_Please don’t let him kill me._

Torian's face turned a shade of red that was nearly purple in nature, his hands were shaking where they were touching her and she tried to stay silent as they gripped her harder and harder. It felt like he was going to snap her like a twig.

"Torian, you're hurting me!"

Before he could respond he felt arms come around him, the hands clasping across his chest, locking his own arms down to his side, dragging him backward.

"You heard the lady--she's just doing what the Boss told her to do!"

"GAULT!" Torian's voice was an explosion, "Jare'la! Usen'ye!" a caged animal's savage roar, his entire body protesting, his legs pushing backward trying to throw off his captor. Mako turned back to the controls, flipping switches and trying to rotate the vessel to a clear spot for the hop. Tapping in the jump coordinates as quickly as she could.

It took less than seven seconds for Torian to reverse the position and take control of the scuffle. He had Gault pinned to the far wall, his forearm across his neck. Gault was lifted at least a foot off of the ground, his feet struggling to find footing, as he gasped and tried to pull Torian's arm away.

"Muun'bajir\--I'll kill you," Torian hissed so close to Gault's face that he felt his breath rush across his cheek, followed in quick succession by a flurry of what could only be more Mando'a swear words and threats. Gault tried to speak, to gather a breath, but Torian's arm was making it nearly impossible.

"Di'kut! That is NOT my BOSS! Not my CAPTAIN!" Torian's arm became even harder against Gault's throat, crushing his neck, punctuating his words, "THAT. IS. MY. WIFE!"

He growled fiercely as the words left his mouth, his other hand flying forward to slam into the bulkhead next to Gault's head. The sound of Gault's whimpering the only noise for a moment, and then Torian grabbed his jacket, throwing him to the side, turning to make another attempt to reach the controls. By this time, they'd attracted attention from the rest of the crew. Blizz ran underfoot to stand between Torian and Mako, begging 'Love-Love' to be happy, while Skadge came into the room like a storm, grabbing both Gault and Torian and pinning them to the wall beside each other.

"Skadge, put me down, let me talk to the kid!" Gault was grabbing at Skadge's fingers trying to get loose.

"Only talk, or pain."

When Gault nodded Skadge released him. Torian stilled, closing his eyes, concentrating on his breathing, conserving his energy, centering himself.

_Gotta smart about this._

Gault made a show of clearing his throat, his hands rubbing along his sore neck, nodding toward Mako to encourage her to get them out of there. He came close to Torian, using his best calming voice, knowing the chances of getting through to him at this point was pretty low. He owed it to Raeyn to try.

"Kid, you know her, I mean, let's be honest, you know her better than any of us--well, I mean...that goes without saying, since...you know she's your wife, and you know her on a more, how to put it delicately....ah....carnal level--which by the way you should thank your lucky sta--"

Torian's eyes popped open, looking as if they were on fire from the inside, a low dark sound, menacing, a promise that was rumbling from deep inside his chest, as he clenched his fists in response to the lascivious tone that was edging into Gault's voice, renewing his efforts to get loose from Skadge's grip.

"GAULT!" Mako's ear piercing screech caused him to jump.

He threw his hands up as the sounds from Torian were becoming more and more savage animal like and less and less civil human being like. Gault cleared his throat, raising his voice to speak over Torian,"as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted...She's going to be fine. She wants us to go so she doesn't have to be worried about us, distracting her. She's got this. It's an entire ship full of Imp soldiers, Sithspawns, Darths, and force-sensitives. Strong, powerful." At this he gestured around the room, "I mean we are brave, and capable, and mostly insane as all hell fighting our way out of the situations that woman has a penchant of getting us into, but we got nothing to offer in this fight compared to those heavy weights over there. We'd just be a liability. She needs us, not to fight, not this time--no, she needs us safe."

Gault looked out the window, gesturing forward, then shrugging his shoulders exaggeratedly, "Kid, here we've got about thirty percent chance of survival--over there--you are already dead. She wants us, and more importantly--YOU safe. She doesn't accidently do anything--this was a calculated decision. Let her do her thing, and we'll do ours."

Torian had fallen silent--his eyes were wild with the thousand scenarios inside his mind, it as if Gault could actually see him measuring those words, twisting, challenging, coming up each time to the same forgone conclusion. It wasn't that Torian didn't try to make sense of the words and weigh them against the warning in his heart, but every possibility ended the same--he should be there to keep her safe. None of them knew the truth, knew that she was stronger with him there. They didn't understand any of it, her, him--and he lacked the time to try to convince them. He should have never left her in the first place. It felt wrong when she told him to go back to the ship, worried that someone would use him as a weapon against her--and he respected her, always had, letting her make that call, begrudgingly, but he did just the same.

His entire body stilled, frozen, his breath caught in his throat, when he heard the whirring sound of the hyperdrive reaching the last stage of preparation.

"You can leave, get out of here! Let me go to her," he was pleading, his voice broken and somehow weak, strange sounding even to his own ears, "Gedet'ye\--I can't leave her here! I can't!"

The bravado drained out of him, the warrior stepping back. He spoke not as a mighty Mandalorian, but solely as a husband desperately afraid of losing his beloved. The sense of dread washing through his being. A sickness, shallow and fevered pouring over him, chilling him through, feeling like the air was thick, stifling, so tangible it felt like it could choke him.

Gault sighed. He wasn't cut out for diplomacy, and momentarily considered grabbing the emergency kit off the floor and smacking the kid with it until he was knocked out.

There was a moment of transition, they all felt it.

A change.

A ripple.

The universe holding its breath.

Something off, something twisted and evil and unfathomable, with them. In an instant, everything was cold, like all the warmth had been sucked out of the universe, and then it was so scorching hot no one could even take a breath. There was a deafening noise, then complete and utter chaos, like the bottom had fallen out of the universe, as the entire bridge lit up red and yellow, the ship shaking and rocking from the motions. They all turned to look out the windows, shielding their eyes from the bright flashes--Darth Marr's flagship in flames and exploding. Breaking apart at the seams. Escape pods were ejecting, but the majority were shot down before they made it past the first line of defense, others incinerated in the terrible blast that rent the ship in two.

Torian lost what semblance of control he had at that point, the rebound from the explosions rocking the Mantis enough that it knocked Gault backward into him. Torian jerked his head back and then whipped it forward as hard as he could--cracking his head into the back of Gault's. Gault wavered for a moment, confused, the pain in his head the last thing he remembered until far, far later.

Skadge had pressed Torian further into the wall during the explosion, but the shock of Gault hitting the floor caused a loosened grip. Mako was trying desperately to get the ship turned away and clear enough to jump, Blizz was hiding behind Mako's legs.

Torian was screaming, his voice like a man possessed, spitting out Mando'a words no one else could understand, taking advantage of the loosening from Skadge's grip, tumbling down the stairs toward the escape pod. He had reached the door, tapping in the code, before they were able to stop him, Skadge tackling him to the floor and then sitting on him, Torian feral with rage--hitting, scratching, and clawing at him trying to move from underneath. He lost his mind completely when the hatch opened and he was three feet from freedom.

Minute by minute he was becoming more incoherent, insane with fury, laced with begging and pleading to release him and let him go to her. His speech littered with Mando'a, fragments of sentences, broken. Tears began streaming down his face, seemingly making him even more agitated, his arms and legs flailing and trying to find purchase to get that lump of stupid off the top of him. He was SO close to the pod. He could program it to Marr's ship, get there, find her, and bring her home.

That was his job. That was the agreement. The promise. That's what he did, what she did. They always had the other's six--they saved each other. Always.

Mako was edging closer and closer to him, her voice calm and soothing. Telling him what felt like lies about how Raeyn was smart and had lived through much more dangerous times than this. About how she'd meet them at the designation port where they had always agreed. That he needed to trust her.

He couldn't see anything clearly, blinded by his emotions, angry at his lack of control, of the tears blurring his vision, and then felt a sharp pinch on his chest. He knew as he felt the cold serum rushing through his veins that Mako had used a sleeping stim on him. The room started spinning.

"Did we make the jump?" Blizz asked, his voice laced with fear and uncertainty.

"Yes," Mako whispered, "we're on our way to Nar Shaddaa. To the rendezvous coordinates."

She sounded small and fragile then, Torian froze, he wasn't the only one effected, everything seeming to be moving in slow motion. Things that were important felt less so, words floating through his head.

"Ni cabur...ni cabuor kaysh--linibar cabuor--oribru, baatir kaysh...ner cyare...ner beroya, ner beroya'ika--gedet'ye," his voice was earnest, he needed them to understand, before it was too late.

Other words were spoken around him that he understood bits and pieces...something about him being stubborn, and enough serum to put down a Hutt but he was still awake...something about Gault needing kolto shots...other words spoken softly, so strange in contrast to his own voice in his ears.

"Please," he begged. "Gedet'ye, Mako," sobbing and fighting the sleep that was creeping through his body, heaviness inching slowly across all of his muscles. Skadge stood up over him, and Mako was leaning close to his face.

"I'm so sorry, Tor," she whispered, her tears falling onto the metal plates he was laying on. He wondered how they could be so loud in his ears. He didn't want Mako to cry. What was happening? Everything was losing its color.

"Please, please, I can't leave her. Ner riduuur, ner cyare. I need her," his words were slurring together a little bit and she only knew what he said because he'd been saying the same combination of words for a few minutes now.

"Shhh, be still, Torian," she laid her hands across his eyes, forcing him to close them, tears heavy in her eyes, "I know you need her, we all do."

While his words had been randomly interspersed with Mando'a here and there, as he became more and more lethargic his language reverted to his native tongue.

"Mako, gedet'ye--kaysh ganar gaanla aliit--kaysh gaanla--ner aliit ni paraer--ni parer munit tome'tayl--ni solus ruyot...solus...ner riduur solus...gedet'ye--linibar cabuor kaysh...ner cyare..." His words were like poetry and Mako couldn't help she wished she had asked him to teach her more of his language so she might know what he was saying, to provide comfort to him in some small way, but she couldn't begin to understand anything he was saying at this point.

He felt the slow descent into oblivion and wanted to thrash and fight it but his entire body felt filled with lead. He couldn't move, couldn't plead anymore, words would not come.

"Please...gedet'ye, Mako" His words were a mere whisper--Mako only heard them because she was leaning down over him at this point to listen closer. She wanted to encourage him, to lift him up before he fell asleep so she did the best she could.

"She is a fighter! If anyone could have survived that, it's our girl!" she sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than making a statement of fact, her hand sweeping across his forehead, brushing his hair away, stroking his head the way a mother would her child.

Mako positioned herself so she was laying down next to him, her hand reaching out to take his, he could feel her shaking gently, crying. He tried to grasp her hand back but he couldn't move. He wanted to say something to help her, to make this better. There was nothing.

"She's gonna be there, Tor,"

Torian wanted to believe it...latching onto those words as the silent arms of slumber pulled him in.

He knew better.

She was gone.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gar ijaat ni!!!!! [gahr ee-JAHT NEE] You honor me! Thank you so much for reaching this chapter! I LOVE to hear from you! THANK YOU ALL for the comments and kudos!!! You make me so humbled! <3 <3 
> 
> Vor'e! [VOHR-ay] Thanks! TRULY!
> 
> __________________________________________________________________________________
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Gev! [gehv] Stop it! 
> 
> ori'haat [OHR-ree-HAH-tee] It's the truth, I swear—no bull
> 
> shaadlar [SHAHD`lar] move
> 
> jare'la [jah-RAY-lah] stupidly oblivious of danger, asking for it
> 
> muun'bajir [MOO-wun BAH-jeer ] I'll teach you a lesson, *kick butt* lit: educate hard
> 
> di'kut [DEE-koot] idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)  
> ___________________________________________________________
> 
> "Ni cabur...ni cabuor kaysh--linibar cabuor--oribru, baatir kaysh...ner cyare...ner beroya, ner beroya'ika--gedet'ye"
> 
> [nee KAH-boor...nee kah-BOO-or kaysh--lee-NEE-bar kah-BOO-or--oh-REE-bru, BAH-teer kaysh...nair SHAH-ray...nair bair-OY-ah, nair bair-OY-ah-EE-kah--geh-DET-yay] 
> 
> "I'm her protector...I protect her--need to protect--this is an emergency, I'm scared for her...my beloved...my hunter, my little hunter--please"  
> _______________________________________________________
> 
> "Ner riduuur, ner cyare" 
> 
> [nair REE-door, nair SHAH-ray] 
> 
> "My wife, my beloved"  
> _______________________________________________________________
> 
> "Mako, gedet'ye--kaysh ganar gaanla aliit--kaysh gaanla--ner aliit ni paraer--ni parer munit tome'tayl--ni solus ruyot...solus...ner riduur solus...gedet'ye--linibar cabuor kaysh...ner cyare..."
> 
> [Mako, geh-DET-yay--kaysh GAN-ar GAHN-la ah-LEET--kaysh GAHN-la--nair ah-LEET nee PAH-rair MOON-eet to-MAY-tail--nee SOH-loos ROO-yot...SOH-loos...nair REE-door SOH-loos--kaysh SOH-loos...geh-DET-yay--lee-NEE-bar kah-BOO-or kaysh...nair SHAH-ray] 
> 
> "Mako, please--she chose me for her clan--her family--the clan I have waited for--I remember waiting for so long--I was so alone before...alone...now my wife is alone--she's alone...please--I need to protect her...my beloved"


	3. Unique

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few translations in this Chapter--You can hold your cursor over any of the Mando'a words in the story and the pronunciation and explanation will pop up for you! I haven't tested this on mobile yet, but it works on the computer!
> 
> In case that doesn't work: Chapter 3 Translations: For those who don't like to wait til the end to know what the non-english words mean (like me!) This works especially well if you open it in another window so you can just click back and forth to see the translations as you hit the words. (Right click and say "open in new tab")
> 
> WARNING: Contains spoilers of course!
> 
> Translations: http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/post/148137087596/the-pages-between-chapter-3-unique
> 
> Chapter Playlist https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCmzlzRgPUhGEpmbvAFRfJbJ8tvSA3RX2

* * *

 

 

Mand’alor stood in the doorway to the room waiting for her eyes to adjust. On the advice of her Chief Medic they had dimmed the lights to help keep Torian comfortable while he healed. She really had no idea if he would even care about the light, but she’d be willing to do anything to help him at this point, even walk in the dark if she had to. It had been twelve days and he had not moved. She had pressed Andare on whether or not he was brain dead. She had not been very clear, explaining that they would not know for a while yet, but did say that it seemed like his body was still responsive to stimuli—a prick to the bottom of his foot…things of that nature, but that as of yet they were not getting very clear readings on the condition of his brain.

Of course, when they had read down the long list of his injuries that the scans revealed, none of them were sure that it was even worth the effort it was going to take to keep him alive, let alone whether or not he would ever even wake up. Mand’alor had told the lot of them to do whatever it took to give him every chance to recover—and then told them she would kill any of them slowly, painfully, in a skilled way that would draw it out over days, perhaps weeks, if they breathed a single syllable of what was taking place in that room to anyone. As far as the rest of the camp knew, she had sent Torian on a special solo mission.

She didn’t so much feel guilty about what had happened with Torian, but she was sorry on a level that she didn’t completely understand herself. She’d replayed the incident until she was nearly insane from it and knew there was nothing she could have really changed. It wasn’t specifically that she felt she wasn’t in the right to do what she did, but something was nagging at her, and she couldn’t help but wish things had gone differently.

She walked into the room, skirting around the machines that he was hooked up to, the mid-sized space feeling very small with all of the technology keeping him alive—some of it shipped in from other worlds—costing a ridiculous amount of credits which she paid for out of her own funds. She avoided looking at Torian, she didn’t like to see what she had done to him…what he had taunted her into do, and she stupidly fell right into—whether her own stubbornness or foolishness or some new somewhat negative force that drove her—she did exactly what he wanted. Nearly killed him before she realized that it was what he wanted.

She took a deep breath crossing past the bed to the medic standing in front of a row of machinery, intending to do her best to sound professional. She could at least do that, schooling her voice to remove any emotion from it.

“Update on Cadera, Andare,” she leaned around the tiny woman who was her Chief Medical Officer trying to see the clipboard she was holding, towering over her. Trying not to smile when she felt Andare jump and then stiffen in response.

Andare grimaced after a tiny squeak issued from her, having not heard Mand’alor enter from the sounds of the ongoing buzzing and clicking of the machines.

She turned around awkwardly, pinned between Mand’alor and the equipment she was next to, trying to not break out into a sweat at her proximity to the woman, who was clearly _not_ planning to move. She focused directly in front of her which was perfectly aligned with the gold ropes draped across her leader’s chest.

_Sweet force and all the things in it! Breathe. Just be calm!_

Andare wanted to run and hide when something that could possibly be labeled a nervous giggle came out of her when she realized that Mand’alor was not going to step back. Lifting her arms, taking the clipboard above her head, she shuffled sideways, awkwardly, bumping the machines and Mand’alor both, attempting to squeeze between her and the other unit blocking her way, clearing her throat nervously.

She wasn’t particularly graceful and her face was flaming hot when she made it past Mand’alor who seemed to be fixated on the machine she was standing in front of. Andare moved around Torian’s bed and focused on the chart in her hands, unable to actually see anything.

_Okay, you’re okay, Andare…just calm down…she didn’t…doesn’t know….you’re fine. You are fine._

Mand’alor shifted and looked back over her shoulder at her, “Andare?”

“Yes, of course,” she couldn’t even remember what was asked of her.

_An update! Of course! Get it together woman!_

She giggled again.

_Are you kidding me? STOP THAT!_

“Erm, umm…that is to say, he is the same, no changes. That is neither good nor bad, to be honest…just stable, which is probably the best we can hope for at this point.”

She was pleased at how steady her voice was and chanced a glance up at Mand’alor who had moved closer to the bed, and was looking at the numbers on the machine responsible for Torian’s breathing. She relaxed a little letting out a breath she was holding out of fear that she’d made a complete fool out of herself. She was still pretty sure she had, but at least Mand’alor wasn’t planning to bring it up. She hoped.

Mand’alor nodded approvingly, looking up at her, “Protocol?”

Andare made a point to look past her face at the wall behind her while she spoke, “three kolto shots a day right now, plus patches on the more severe bruising, intravessel liquids for hydration, compositional tinctures to help with the regeneration of bones, I’ve also got him on a fairly potent pain solution every two hours, and, of course, I have kept him completely sedated to keep him comfortable.”

“Right…” Mand’alor looked over at Torian, her face washing with displeasure at the state of him, “…could that be related to him not waking up yet?”

Andare took the chance to study Mand’alor, noticing how tired she was and how her body was very rigid and tense. She wished she could give her some good news.

“No, the sedation is actually a fairly light one. He hasn’t required more than a tenth of a vial each time. His body would at least respond to dreams if he were in the stages before waking, but he has not gone into any sleep cycles as far as the machines have sensed.”

She shuffled her feet, reluctantly revealing more than she probably should, “the truth is the sedation is just to make me feel better.”

She walked to the edge of the bed, looking down at her patient, her face full of emotion, frowning—her job was to heal and mend, not watch someone die, touching his hand gently, “I don’t actually think he needs it.”

Mand’alor’s shoulders slumped, the smallest subtlest movement, but Andare did not miss it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, meaning it with all her heart.

_I would heal all the wounds in the world, even yours, if I could. For you._

At that Mand’alor stood up straight, pulling up to her full height, squaring herself away, slapping on her leader persona, turning to leave the room, “don’t be, you are doing good work here, thank you.”

Andare was glad she was not facing the door as the blush that blossomed over her face was burning her alive under the praise.

“Thank you, just doing what I can,” she tried to sound casual…did she sound casual?

_Please let me sound casual._

“Oh, and Andare?” There was a tone in Mand’alor’s voice that was unfamiliar.

She looked up then to see Mand'alor paused at the door, turned back to look at her, “y-yes?”

“You could have just asked me to move.”

She wished the entire planet would just open up and swallow her completely, instead she just nodded, turning around to pretend she was doing something important to the machine behind her.

She could have sworn she heart Mand’alor laugh.

_It must have been the machines._

 

* * *

 

 

Mand’alor shook her head as she smiled about the way that Andare had not asked her to move. She knew teasing her was inappropriate but it was worth it to see the blush on her porcelain face. She had been musing for a few weeks over this strange dance that had begun between them.

She knew she should stop harassing the poor girl and just be blunt with her, but this war, this chaos, just didn’t seem like the right time for any kind of relationship, no matter how wonderful the idea might seem. Plus, she’d not been in a relationship in quite some time, and the Mando’ade she was with before—Dru…well, she had thought they would marry. It seemed like the real thing and she’d put all of herself into their bond. He had put all of himself into pretty much anything with complimentary parts.

_Sometimes even without._

When she found out about his betrayal, he was already gone, knowing for sure that she would see him dead for it. The only consolation was that only a very small circle of the clan really knew about their relationship—they’d been very careful so there would not be any questions—and it had ended up being a huge relief since there wasn’t any drama apart from what she dealt with internally.

It’d been several years and she had completely give up on romance or love or anything that presented a remote semblance of a connection with anyone other than professional. Not because she didn’t believe in love or something crazy like that, even having experienced the harsh sting of lost love—no, rather among her people it was quite normal to be a very passionate kind—living every day in the shereshoy in order to seize all that life could possibly offer. That said, everything had changed in her life when she became Mand’alor. Where she once did what she wanted for her own satisfaction, now every decision did not just impact her own life but that of every one of the people in her House as well as the Clans as a whole. Given that much responsibility, no one in the universe held appeal enough to be worth the effort juggling her professional obligations along with the nuances of a personal relationship.

That was until they came to this planet. Until she met Adare.

Out in the field on a mission a few months before, she’d found herself taking a tumble off of a balcony, landing on a set of stairs and, then, in what could only be her own unique style, committed to making as grand of an effort as she could to hit every single step as she fell down them. It wasn’t one of her best moments.

She’d ended up with a hairline fracture in her ankle and several other injuries—she and Fett had been holding back a squad of droids on the second level from gaining access to the adjacent hallway when one of the droids charged her, knocking her over the rail. Fett insisted on carrying her all the way back to the camp, despite threating to kill him for not letting her walk, and then went through the back entrance so others did not see her in the state she was in. He had summoned Andare to her in her private quarters, mostly to save her embarrassment—which she appreciated. The medic had responded almost immediately and came into the room in a flurry, brandishing her quick kit, setting up to assess her injuries and dispense any help that Mand’alor would allow her to.

Andare knew better than to assume that Mand’alor would accept her assistance—the Mando’ade as a whole were sketchy on medical care from other clan members, even those specially trained and groomed early on in their lives for the skill. Still Andare was going to do her best to take care of the leader.

She had knelt on the floor, her hands trembling when she was preparing to touch the swollen ankle and Mand’alor really wanted to tell her to not worry about it, as she seemed so discombobulated and unnerved in front of her. She was thoroughly confused about why this girl was so clearly intimidated by her, she wasn’t sure she had ever even seen this girl before, though it was hard to tell as her pale curly hair was loose and hung down to cover her face. She watched as the girl set up her materials, wondered at her closing her eyes for a moment, and then appearing to brace herself as she reached out to test the ankle.

The moment Andare’s fingers touched her skin it was like a new world opened to Mand’alor. Her hands moved so softly, so gently, with such care. Not the way any other medic had ever tended to her injuries in the typical “be a warrior” kind of attitude that sometimes hurt worse than the actual injury—everything was a test—a challenge to be accepted and overcome in their world, including medical treatment. It was one of the reasons most Mando’ade routinely refused medical attention. There wasn’t a lot of trust there.

But Andare was…. _unique_ …and despite not understanding, Mand’alor was unable to dismiss the odd sensation that was swimming through her veins like fiery tendrils of emotion wrapped in sparks, whipping through her body, a foreign feeling she had never experienced before. She had looked to the table beside her wondering what exactly Fett had put in the tihaar he brought her.

Mand’alor was thankful for the girl being so intent on splinting and wrapping her ankle so she could watch without censure. When Andare finished, she turned packing up her kit, and she really wanted to ask her how a girl her age had come to be so gifted in the healing arts. She was slow and deliberate. She tended to her like she was a royal princess of some vast planet. The question seemed too bold, so she stayed silent. Then Andare stood up, and the light cast across her form and her face and Mand’alor was stunned. What she had thought a young girl, was actually a woman, within ten moons of her own life pattern she guessed—she was lovely, her features delicate and her skin was so light and smooth looking—tinged with a touch of pink and just so very soft looking from all appearances—a woman indeed, just living in a childlike body. Not _actually_ very childlike she noted as she studied the woman. No, she definitely wouldn’t say that.

She couldn’t make up an excuse for why her breath was caught in her throat, and her heartrate accelerated when Andare reached over to clasp her wrist and placed a meter on her.

Andare’s eyes had widened when the numbers popped up on her screen, her eyes flashing straight into Mand’alor’s for a moment and then quickly moving back to the numbers. She tapped the band a few times, trying to hide a small smile, “the meter must be faulty.”

She snapped it off of Mand’alor’s wrist and turned away from her, picking up the data tablet off the floor as she turned. Mand’alor remained silent…confused.

Andare’s assistant had walked into the room then, flurrying past her to deliver the kolto patches for Mand’alor’s arm—which he went straight to applying.

Mand’alor’s eyes were studying the stance of Andare—her fingers tapping frantically on the pad in her hand. It would look to all the world like she was very intent on her work. It would be believable if Mand’alor hadn’t watched her turn the unit off when she was packing up her supplies—and a reboot would have taken at least three minutes, and only one minute thirty-eight seconds had passed. If there was one thing Mand’alor didn’t lack, it was skills of observation, time and spatial awareness—it is what had kept her alive this long.

“Ankle all taken care of?” the assistant asked.

Mand’alor wasn’t sure why she couldn’t just let this go. Let this girl walk out, not ask, not wonder, just another person walking into her life and right back out. Normal. Daily. But something was there…she couldn’t put her finger on it, but she wanted to, finger, hands, anything…to get her questions answered and solve the puzzle, and this—that moment was the first time she had felt optimistic since she was a child.

The assistant cleared his throat, “Mand’alor? Is your ankle all taken care of?”

Snapped out of her musings, she turned to look at the boy who had now garnered the attention of Andare as well.

“I…yes, I’m sorry,” she was stumbling over her words, feeling absolutely ridiculous.

_For goodness sakes get ahold of yourself woman!_

Andare spoke up then, her voice different from before, out of the business mode and what must be her normal voice, soft and tinkling, fitting her perfectly, like the sound of wind chimes, “she will be mended in a few days, the ankle was already responding to the treatment when I wrapped it.”

Andare had walked to her kit and then over to the side of the chair opposite her assistant, reaching out as if to touch Mand’alor’s neck, “I just…need to put this on, it’s for pain….ummm…” she gestured toward her, holding out the small square, “it’s for the pain….it goes behind your ear…”

_Smooth, Andare…real smooth._

Mand’alor straightened in the chair, keeping her arm accessible for the assistant to finish putting on the kolto, then used her free arm to gather her hair back and pull it to the side, leaning her head down and around to expose her neck and ear to Andare.

It seemed to her that the pain patch was being placed with something more of a caress than with intent, Andare’s fingers lingering for a beat once the square was affixed. It was something between a shudder and a tremble that washed over Mand’alor’s body as Andare’s fingers drifted down the side of her neck and then landed on her shoulder.

Her assistant had finished up and was standing in front of the chair.

“I see…” he said lightly, Mand’alor’s eyes cutting up to see his face which seemed to hold mirth, his eyebrows raised, looking at Andare.

She felt the absence of the warmth of Andare’s hand the moment she lifted it, wanting nothing more than to ask her to come back, to bring the sun back even if just for a moment but she was too overwhelmed by her feelings to even speak.

She nodded her head and the two medics walked out. That was the first day she had thought of what love might look like to her again.

She’d mostly toyed with the idea of it being something other than just friends since that day—but wasn’t even sure it would be responsible to entertain the idea, let alone pursue it.  She had already had to admit that Andare was the only bright spot here. She’d found out after their meeting that Andare had been with their clan since she was a child but had been working closely with the Empire as per the prior Mand’alor’s orders. Once he passed, she had returned to their house. She had been a name, but not a face to Mand’alor since then--as a footnote, not someone she had ever even really noticed…something she struggled with now. To be fair, it wasn’t all her fault—Andare was very quiet and unassuming, lost in the rowdy chaos that is House Vizla.  Clearly, inexperienced and too timid socially—to be surrounded by such bold, boisterous people. She was lost in the mix all the time, and now, Mand’alor felt like she was much the same. Lost in the mix—not sure what to do, or how to get from point a to point b.

Not to mention it wasn’t too often Mand’alor had to see the medic for anything at all—but the last month had seen her coming to the med bay more often than she cared to admit visiting her injured warriors. She supposed that was better than visiting the burial mounds more often. The last few months had taken quite a toll on their clans. She had noticed that Andare would walk her through the bays personally each time she came to visit to check on an injury of one of the clan elders. It wasn’t too long before she was hoping someone was injured. She was pretty ashamed of herself for the thought, and quit going after that.

That said she ended up working very closely with Andare over the last few weeks taking care of Torian. In general, she considered herself pretty intuitive, so she didn’t think she was wrong about the idea that Nadare had some kind of attachment to her. She’d been trying to figure out exactly what kind of attachment it was but every day the answer was becoming more and more clear.

She shook her head as she turned the corner to the primary planning tent, pushing all of the thoughts of Andare aside to focus on what she needed to do now, plan their next advance on the droid factory. Reinforcements had arrived a few days before and they were going to need a new, more sound strategy if they were going to keep their clan alive.

She’d been at the planning table for several hours, the discussions deteriorating into the typical shouting match with threats, and all too often challenges that had to be taken outside which always seemed to happen when there were a few too many Mando’ade with just enough authority to feel powerful in one room together for more than a few minutes.

She was preparing to put a stop to all of the blustering nonsense when there was a commotion coming in through the doorway to the tent.

One of her younger guards was rushing backwards talking to someone in front of him, telling them they were not allowed to enter the tent without permission.

Mand’alor walked around the table and went to the other side of the room, placing her large desk between her and the doorway.

A Sith was walking through the tunnel into the room, sweeping across the ground like her feet were not even moving, and the air around her appearing to shift with each step she took. Mand’alor blinked trying to clear her eyes.

_What’s this new force trick?_

The poor boy who was trying to stop the Sith and her companion had turned to Mand’alor with desperation in his eyes, clearly afraid the Sith was going to take his head off for trying to correct her.  She signaled for him to leave.

The Sith had walked up to the other side of the table, looking for all intents and purposes as if she were bored out of her mind, glancing around the tent and then aligning her eyes with Mand’alor’s.

“Are you in charge here?” Her voice, clipped, regal, something at first resembling the typical Imperial accent, but not exactly, something unique in her cadence, pronunciation, a different kind of tone—not Imperial, not anything she had ever really heard before, which was quite fitting since her appearance was anything other than typical as well.

_Rattataki Sith. Now I've seen it all._

Her skin was an odd shade of gray and purple, her eyes nearly white but not quite with a shimmer of blue in them, she was completely bald, but covered in intricate tattoos in a dark purple ink and what seemed at first glance to be mixed with some kind of white or silver iridescent ink as well, the tattoos themselves somehow raised with a texture she couldn’t describe. A silver braided decoration crowned her head with pink pearly shapes inset into it. She was dressed in what appeared to be very sturdy armor that was gray and pink, her form tall and slender.

Mand’alor wanted to laugh at her for wearing pink on the battlefield but the truth was whereas most could never pull that kind of thing off, this woman could. It fit her, it made her look ethereal and seemed like it was made to accent her alien features. She thought she was actually very unique and wondered if Andare had ever seen someone of this species before.

_Unique? Haar'chak! Woman get your head together, that’s a Sith standing there._

The man behind the Sith said something Mand’alor couldn’t make out and the Sith turned her head to answer him, a knowing look passing between the two, then turned back around to Mand’alor and leaned her hands on the table, rolling her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Do you speak basic?” Her tone was more like a dripping, oozing bottle of sarcasm—slow and drawn out like she was talking to a child who had been dropped on their head.

“Yes.” Mand’alor was more than a little put out by a Sith who thought she could come into her camp, into her house and act like she was owed some kind of respect for just living.

_ Haran nu draar. _

“Listen,” Mand’alor began to talk but was quickly cut off.

“That’s all I wanted to know, I don’t want a conversation,” at that the Sith closed her eyes, her face melting into a serene expression, her hands coming up to her waist, clasping lightly, stilled completely, and Mand’alor looked back at the group of men across the room as if to say “what the haran even?”

They all shrugged.

_If you aren’t here for me or my people what are you doing here?_

She wanted to ask it, but felt like she was too angry to say it in a way that wouldn’t result in what would probably be her untimely death right here in the kriffing planning tent. She started counting to calm herself down.

_1, 2, 3, 4…_

“I’m not here for you,” the Sith seemed to answer the question she was thinking.

_What the…._

The man behind the Sith walked forward, his voice gravelly and gruff, deep and somehow strangely alluring, taking in his appearance it certainly suited him…he was a bulky, but fit man, quite muscular, rough hands, probably her age—his face was covered with some kind of dark tattoos that looked like slashes across his face, making his bright blue eyes stand out like jewels. Factoring in the body language between the two visitors, they were clearly in a relationship.

“Listen,” he leaned forward onto the table, looking for all the world that he was completely relaxed, “this can be easy—easy for you—easy for my Sith here—which means easy for me. I like easy.”

He looked around the room, clearly taking inventory of how many people there were and undoubtedly calculating how fast they could kill them all.

_Well, you just try!_

“Or…” he looked back at her, his eyes fixed, “we can sure do this the hard way, which admittedly, I guess I like that way too. Let’s be honest, that would mean a pretty big cleanup for your crew outside, and since it’s clear you have plenty of other business to attend to out there, I think we should just all simmer down and let my Sith do what she came here to do.”

Mand’alor’s eye brows shot up, doing her best to stealthily twist her hip forward to put her blaster closer to grab in case she had to…she noted that the movement did not go unnoticed by the man who tilted his head slightly, his expression changing to one of wonder. It looked to her like he was actually asking her if she really wanted to do that. A warning, maybe a challenge too, and…really, amusement?

“Which is?”

The Sith’s bright eyes popped open looking past Mand’alor to the doorway behind her, “I found him, he’s back there.” The man turned to her, she gestured to the hallway behind Mand’alor, and then he looked back at the doorway asking if she was sure.

 _Him? Who? The only person back there is….Torian? Why would she be here for him? I don’t need the complications that will no doubt happen if these people find out that Torian is practically dead and not actually out on a mission._ _Haar'chak!_

Mand’alor slammed her hands down on the table. She could hear her crew shuffling, no doubt itching for a fight, but the two in front of her didn’t even move, just continued to talk like she wasn’t even there.

“Look,” Mand’alor’s voice was dripping with acid, needing to show her people that she wasn’t going to be pushed around by a Sith even if it meant that they would find out her secret, “you aren’t getting down that hallway until you explain to me what exactly you are doing here.”

_They are going to mess everything up if they say his name! How in the world do they even know Torian is here?_

Her hand had come to rest on the blaster on her hip, and she had managed to flip the switch on her wrist torch at the same time she drew her hand down.

“My goodness,” the Sith held her hands up while she shrugged then dropped them to her side, “no wonder you people don’t have any friends—you clearly don’t appreciate help when it shows up and stands right in front of you. I am here for…oh…ohhhh, you…could we talk privately?”

Mand’alor stood still trying to read the Sith, who was holding eye contact, trying to figure out what the angle was but not really getting it.

“You have two minutes, after that, if I am not back out here these troops will bring our entire house down on you.”

The Sith didn’t even acknowledge the threat had been made, just walked across the room into the hallway, her companion following closely behind.

Mand’alor turned to her people and told them to follow up in two minutes if she wasn’t back. They nodded and sent others out to rally the camp.

She walked to the middle of the hall where the Sith was standing.

“Go on then?”

“I’m here for the boy,” she gestured down the hallway to the side of the compound Torian was being treated, “I came to help your medics heal him.”

“…but you’re Sith?”

The woman’s eyes widened, and then narrowed into a glare, her jaw twitching, the man crossed his arms, shifting his weight as if he were getting comfortable to watch a very entertaining spectacle.

“Mandalorians, as a collective, have generally relied far too much on their own preconceived notions,” she gestured around her, “we live in a vast universe filled with people of all kinds, of all species, of all means of being—and you think you understand something about me? About what I am capable of or what I willingly do because all you see when you look at me is ‘Sith’? Did I get that right?”

Mand’alor struggled to find something to say, feeling like a small child being scolded, and resenting the way she felt about it.

The Sith shifted, clearly growing impatient, “that’s quite a show of xenophobia you are nursing there, it would serve you better to disregard any ideas you may or may not have about who I am and what I am capable of—and even more importantly than that--it would be good for your lifespan to understand that I will not leave here until I have healed that boy.”

Mand’alor was positively dumbfounded, “how do you know him?”

At this the Sith’s eyes narrowed even further, and she stepped closer to Mand’alor, “does it matter?”

Mand’alor struggled to figure out how to reign in this clusterbomb of a confrontation.

“I know you are lying to your people, so honestly, right now I have more credibility than you do--they think he is away on a mission—I’m not clear on what has happened here or why. What I am crystal clear on is that you don’t want those people out there to know the boy is here in this compound, nor that he is dying,” she gestured to the room they had just left, “out of respect for you, I did not reveal the deception. I would hope that you would show me the same level of respect. We are wasting time; every second we waste he is growing weaker.”

Mand’alor was weighing her options in her head as quickly as she could, pushing aside her questions about how this Sith knew so much and wondering if she had a traitor under her roof. She reluctantly admitted she understood the Sith had a choice to reveal what she was hiding but didn’t—it was anyone’s guess as to how that may or may not play into the Sith’s plans, but for now it didn’t really matter, “how do I know you aren’t here to kill him?”

A tinkling laugh came out of the Sith, a noise that seemed in direct conflict to the aura of strength and well harnessed power that rolled off of her in the confined space of the hallway, the man behind her grunted as if he was amused as well, which caused the Sith to turn and smile at him.

It had seemed like a fair question to her.

“Why, I wonder, do you think that I would be here to kill him?” One of her eyebrows raised up in amusement, but it still made her expression look threatening.

Mand’alor really didn’t have any reason but that nagging over protective feeling she’d had since she had her scope trained on him to kill him was swelling up inside of her again.

_For the love of Manda this is a Sith wanting to HEAL him? Why would she do that? I can’t let her kill him, not after all of this we have done to keep him alive._

“I’m not going to kill him,” the Sith shrugged her shoulders, stepping back outside of the bubble around Mand’alor, the air instantly easier to breath, “I didn’t travel all the way here to this abhorrent planet of such insufferable desolation that it makes Tatooine look like Drummond Kaas’ ugly twin sister, to do something as asinine as killing a boy who has not yet made his mark on the world. The number of people who would know he was gone is so small it is fairly laughable—that said—the ones who would know are the reason I am here.”

She started to walk down the hallway, slowly as if she were giving Mand’alor the chance to stop her.

“I _am_ going to heal him,” she turned and looked back at Mand’alor, “I will. You are welcome to watch, you are welcome to take this,” she pulled her lightsaber out of the belt on her hip, thrusting it forward—Mand’alor instinctively drew her weapon, and in the same moment, the man behind the Sith had his weapon drawn and targeted, it was so fast Mand’alor’s eyes went wide with surprise—the red light steady on her forehead.

The Sith sighed a long suffering kind of sigh, “Andronikos.” She said the name like a caress, intimate.

The man didn’t move, didn’t even appear to be breathing. After a few moments a noise came out of him that seemed to be a question.

“Please.”

The man loosened his stance, putting his gun back in its holster in a swift fluid movement. In another time Mand’alor would be interested in studying this man’s technique—perhaps get some tips from him—but this was certainly not shaping up to be a visit of that kind.

 The Sith cleared her throat, drawing Mand’alor’s attention back to her hand, gesturing the hilt of the saber out to her again, tilting her head in invitation for her to take her weapon.

“You don’t have to possess that to be lethal,” Mand’alor stared the Sith down, her eyes narrowed in distrust, “I know your kind, and I don’t need to be force sensitive to see your aura actually disturbing the air around you. It would take a fool to not realize _you are the weapon_.”

At this the Sith smiled, a real smile for all appearances, her face was lit up and she seemed genuinely happy, her features softening, taking her saber and putting it back in the clip on the belt, “then we know where we stand with each other, don’t we?”

Mand’alor studied the woman for a moment, not sure how to take any of this. Sith were not gifted in the healing arts, they were not altruistic, they were murderous, hate-filled, ambitious power hungry, back-stabbing dominators. Not that she considered that a completely bad thing—there was a reason her clans had aligned with the Empire and more specifically the Sith—and hard to admit or not, a lot of those words could be used to describe her own house some of the time. That said, there was not a single redeemable value from the whole lot of Sith, yet this one wanted her to believe she was here to apparently heal Torian with no ulterior motive.

_Not likely. Such a Sith has never existed. Every one of them is only out for what power they can take for their own ascension to authority._

The Sith considered Mand’alor, with an expression that looked like understanding, her stance relaxing as if she were trying to change the atmosphere around them, and then she spoke, her voice very gentle, almost apologetic, “you’ve never seen anything like me before.”

The Sith turned and started walking down the hall, if it could be called walking, gliding then, the man following her, his body still alert and guarded despite the relaxed state of the woman he followed. Mand’alor stood there with her blaster still drawn staring after them.

“If you need me, I’ll be in here—“ the Sith looked back at Mand’alor, “doing what I came to do.”

Mand’alor waited until they had entered the room Torian was in to inform the soldiers to stand down, completely confused about what had just happened, but for some reason feeling at ease with the entire situation—which didn’t exactly make sense in respect to how everything just went down. Once she had ushered the rest of the Mando’ade out of the tent and pulled the front flap closed, she rushed to Torian’s room—sincerely hoping that Andare wasn’t too shaken up about a Sith walking in—and of course, hoping that the promises that the Sith had made about healing Torian were going to be reality.

_A girl can dream._

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very humbled by all of the kindness and love and thoughts you have all shown me for this story! This is a work of passion and I was really hoping that my story for these precious souls would resonate with others as much as it was for me! 
> 
> Your kudos, reviews, and even the counter clicking as you read makes me absolutely beyond thrilled. THANK YOU. 
> 
> ______________________________________________________________________
> 
> tihaar [TEE-har] alcoholic drink - strong clear spirit made from fruit, like eau de vie
> 
> shereshoy [sheh-REYSH-oy] lust for life and much more - uniquely Mandalorian word, meaning the enjoyment of each day and the determination to seek and grab every possible experience, as well as surviving to see the next day - hanging onto life and relishing it. An understandable state of mind/ emotion for a warrior people. Closely related to the words for live--oyacyir [oy-YAH-sheer], hunt--oya'karir [OY-yah-KAR-eer], and stay safe--K'oyacyi! [Koy-AH-shee!] - and, of course *oya*. All from the same root.
> 
> Haar'chak! [HAR-chak] Damn it!
> 
> haran [HAH-rahn] hell - literally, destruction, cosmic annihilation
> 
> Nu draar [Noo DRAR] No way. Absolutely not. Never in a million years. Not on your life. (Emphatic disagreement and doubt. Lit: Not never. Mandos use double negatives for emphasis.)
> 
> IE used as “Hell no!” in the story--literally “Hell not never!”


	4. Loosely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a new language introduced here--one that is completely unique and is not known commonly. I can't really speak of it without major spoilers.
> 
> You can hold your cursor over any of the Mando'a/Non-Basic words in the story and the pronunciation and explanation will pop up for you! I haven't tested this on mobile yet, but it works on the computer!
> 
> In case that doesn't work: Chapter 4 Translations: For those who don't like to wait til the end to know what the non-english words mean (like me!) This works especially well if you open it in another window so you can just click back and forth to see the translations as you hit the words. (Right click and say "open in new tab")
> 
> WARNING: Contains spoilers of course!
> 
> Translations: http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/post/148633662931/the-pages-between-chapter-3-unique-teaser
> 
> Chapter Playlist https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCmzlzRgPUhG3Gr9nRE0o7L97friv9qfL

* * *

 

 

Mand’alor rushed down the hallway toward Torian’s room. The man with the tattooed face was standing beside the door with his arms crossed, his hip touching the wall, feet crossed at the ankle. Relaxed, his eyes closed as she approached. She turned to walk into the dark room, noticing an odd glowing movement on the wall just inside the room.

She had taken a step forward when her chest slammed into a solid form stopping her in her tracks. She looked down to see the man’s arm across the doorway barring her from entering. She took a deep breath, trying to calm down, turning her eyes to look at him, the muscle in her jaw tensing and unlocking as she attempted to be civil.

_This is my house._

“We need to talk,” the man said, lowering his arm and gesturing further down the hallway, stepping away from the room.

She followed him, feeling exasperated by the entire situation and all she really wanted to do was check on Andare.

_Well, and yes, of course Torian as well, but really._

She crossed her arms, her stance formal and rigid, “About?”

“My Sith is working in that room, it requires a lot of concentration, and it _hurts_ her. I don’t want you in there disturbing her.”

Mand’alor studied the man, mollifying her initial response of wanting to pull out her blaster and shoot him between the eyes. His face didn’t give much away to influence her away from violence and then she read something there—her body relaxing as she identified the emotion, a true fear—a fear for his Sith, something she could certainly relate to at the moment and then an understated sense of affection for his Sith, which fueled the fear. Suddenly, to her own surprise she could actually find mutual ground with this man.

“I see,” Mand’alor spoke softly, loosening in her stance in an effort to alleviate the hostility that was bouncing between them. The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hand jutting forward quickly. Mand’alor tempered her desire to draw her weapon at the fast movement, her hand resting on her blaster instead.

“Name’s Andronikos,” he smirked at her hand, fingers curved as if to grab at her weapon, unaffected, not even a little she noted as he continued to speak, “we don’t have to kill each other. I think our goals are the same here.”

She reached out and shook his hand firmly, “Shae Vizla,” she released his hand, “and what goals are those?”

“To see the boy healed and back to good health. To make sure the people we love are not hurt in the process.”

Her eyebrow shot up at that.

_…love? What? How could he even know that…_

“No need to worry,” he huffed a short laugh, “no one else would guess, my Sith has a special talent for this kind of thing.”

Mandalor laughed nervously, her palms sweating, “your Sith appears to have quite a lot of ‘special talents’ as far as I can tell.”

Andronikos chuckled a deep belly laugh then, unabashed and clearly amused by what she had said, “you are not wrong, my friend, you are most certainly not wrong.”

He gestured toward the door behind her as if urging her to enter the room. She nodded to him and quickly entered the normally dark room currently suffused with a light glow making it much easier to see as she navigated around the wall of machines to see Torian.

The Sith had climbed onto the bed, having somehow maneuvered around all of the cords and lines and tabs and was sitting at the very top of the bed with Torian’s head resting on a pillow in her lap. She had both hands on his head and was glowing lightly all around her. Brilliant white, with glimmers of gold and other colors, shimmering off of the shiny consoles and glass screens around her. It was a breathtaking sight.

She was so enthralled by the vision before her eyes she did not notice Andare approach her, jumping when she touched her shoulder, shuffling her feet to try to hide her embarrassment.

Andare just looked down and away, then back up, gesturing to the side of the room away from the bed.

Mand’alor followed her there, suppressing the urge to ask about her wellbeing, instead settling for the less obvious, “update?”

“No changes, I’m not sure….” Andare looked at Mand’alor then, her eyes clouded with uncertainty, and Mand’alor wanted to shake her to find out what was wrong with her so she could fix it, “I mean to say, why is there a Sith here?”

Mand’alor relaxed as she realized that it was just the apprehension of a Sith in the room that was bothering Andare, shrugging, not entirely sure of the answer herself, “she says she means to heal him.”

Andare nodded, staring across the room at the Sith, chewing on her bottom lip, “she said that. How does she know him though?”

“I’m not sure…it’s not been made clear to me.”

Andare looked down at the floor, shifting closer to Mand’alor, “she cried when she saw him.”

Mand’alor glanced sideways at Andare, puzzled by this information, “really?”

The woman nodded in response, turning her back to the bed to look at Mand’alor, “Yes, she was shaking and suddenly burst into tears, like…weeping, mourning, and then she told me that she was going to heal him, and basically ignored me after that, but I just had…such a feeling of peace and love….but there was this other thing there, underneath, like this untapped fury—so much anger and it was just being held back by the lovely parts—and I just…well…I’m worried is all.”

“About?” Mand’alor lifted an eyebrow toward Andare, glancing past her shoulder to the Sith and then back at her eyes again, “what exactly?”

Andare took a deep breath, “her finding out you did this to him.”

_Ah, of course._

Mand’alor reached out and touched Andare’s cheek softly, then dropped her hand back to her side, “No need for worry, you let me handle that, and you just help that Sith any way she needs you to, okay?”

Andare shuddered internally, trying to keep herself from grabbing Mand’alor’s hand and holding it to her face, overwhelmed at the intimacy of the small touch, trying to clear her head, then studied Mand’alor’s stance, recognizing strength and determination, courage and the lack of fear entirely, then nodded her head, “of course, thank you.”

The two women shifted and ended up standing so close the sides of their arms were touching as they watched the Sith.

“You should know, if she does find out and tries to…to hurt you….” Andare whispered, “…I’ll…I’ll have to at least try to stop her.”

Mand’alor twisted slightly, unable to see Andare’s face as her head was tilted down and her hair had fallen across it, she reached over and pushed her hair behind her ear, wanting to bend down to see Andare’s face clearly but settling for the small view she had now.

“I know,” Mand’alor breathed softly, “then I will have to kill her to stop her from hurting you.”

Andare’s face lifted up to look into Mand’alor’s eyes, studying her, reading her, “you would, wouldn’t you?”

Mand’alor nodded once.

_Anything._

Andare reached out, taking Mand’lor’s hand, holding it in her tiny one, breaking eye contact as she drew her attention back to the Sith and Torian.

Mand’alor stared at Andare far longer than would be polite, her hand tingling and warm, and _right_ …wanting to sweep her up into her arms, stopping herself, as Andare deserved every moment of the pursuit. She took a deep breath and turned her body back to face the bed where the Sith was still glowing and Torian was still deathly pale and drawn looking.

They both jumped when the Sith spoke, rather loudly compared to the mood in the room, “you two can leave, I have no need of you here, and your emotions are _distracting_ me.”

Mand’alor laughed a nervous sounding giggle and chided herself for being so embarrassed, she was a grown woman! 

“Imh'ite.” The word wasn’t a language Mand’alor had ever heard before—but it was said with such emphasis and borderline hostility she certainly got the gist of the meaning without forthright knowledge of it.

She looked over at Andare who was wide eyed like an animal who knew it was trapped, turning to look back at her, her shoulders shrugging lightly, a smile on her face, an admission of guilt or something familiar to it.

Mand’alor pulled on her hand, gesturing to leave the room and Andare followed.

_I would follow you anywhere._

 

* * *

 

 

The Sith had not expected such a dramatic response when she walked into the room where Torian was being kept. She had felt a light current flowing across her skin, slightly painful but fully manageable, as she had approached the tent, but nothing could have prepared her for standing there with him. She was surprised by the size of his aura given how weak he was physically, but when her body breached the edge of it, she was overwhelmed by the magnitude of his emotions, of his loss.

She reeled from it, bracing herself as wave after wave washed through her. She began to cry, to weep over the lost moments, over the way his soul had mourned for his beloved. How lost he had been, how lost he still is. She marveled at how truly, truly blessed Raeyn was to have such love bound to her. She was thankful for that at least. Once the initial fall of emotions had passed she made her way over to his bed, carefully shifted cords and cables until she could sit at the top of the bed, placing his head in her lap, her hands spanning around his head, fingers laying lovingly on his face, she reached into him, unable to stop her face from twisting with the degree of pain and brokenness that his body was enduring, rushing through the force between them.

_I’m here now. I will help you. I will give you back your light. Be still little one._

She felt a flash of anger course through her, the thought how this had happened, the forces responsible for it, but she quickly shut the thoughts down knowing well they would slow the healing process, quickly centered herself, dismissing it and focusing on Torian, his heart beating, too slow, so sluggish, his body giving up, one molecule at a time.

_This is going to take a while. Days, maybe weeks? I’ll stay the course._

She settled down into the pillows around her, breathing in and releasing her light across him, her energy feeding into the ebb and flow—a dull pain beginning to throb all around her, constricting and suffocating in its nature. She tried to focus inside him, on the healing process, instead of on what her body was feeling, the slow draw of life from her pool, like a needle pricking the same spot over and over again. Raw and exposed.

Squaring her shoulders, she pushed past her body’s protests, to find a place of wonder inside Torian’s soul.

She smiled as the first memory flew across his mind.

It was an interesting experience for her, being inside Torian’s mind, having already been inside Raeyn’s and knowing her side of the memories as well, creating a fullness to the visions that would be lacking otherwise. It would be comparable to watching a single 2D hologram versus one projecting from all sides. The same picture but missing the depth and details of the single cast.

 

* * *

 

 

Torian had been standing there in that room for as long as he could remember. Something was holding up the proceedings, giving him plenty of time to allow his nerves to work up into a practical frenzy—and he wasn’t even sure _why_ he was even there. He was surrounded by a room full of Mandalorian clan leaders and high level advisors, all of them renowned—it was like a who’s who of Mandalorian culture—and all of them stood in good favor with Mand’alor.

The real issue was that he was sent a personal invitation to attend, something so alarming he had actually finagled a way to meet up with Corridan, who had also received an invitation, so he could verify it was a real invitation and not a clever replication meant to be a cruel practical joke. Once the legitimacy of the invitation was verified, his real problems began--since for whatever reason he could not possibly guess, he was actually invited to this event by Mand’alor himself.

There was no secret the current Mand’alor, Artus, had zero affection for Clan Cadera, given the fact he had basically executed all of them apart from the few children and, of course, the instigator responsible for the break with the clans—his own father Jicoln.

Admittedly, he should feel honored by the opportunity to be here, but instead he had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to come up with a viable excuse to not go, which given the nature of being Mandalorian was basically impossible to do. He knew as well as anyone, when Mand’alor asked, you delivered, that combined with the drive inside himself so intent on _never_ following in his father’s footsteps—resulted in his presence in this room.

Corridan huffed beside him, glancing across the space at the doorway, “What could possibly be taking so long? The runner said that the Champion’s shuttle landed an hour ago! I was in the middle of a conference with two other Clans planning our next attack.”  

Corridan glanced back at Torian who looked for all purposes to be ready to pass out right there in the middle of the room, “You okay?”

Torian jumped, looking around wildly, “What?” He looked at Corridan who just stared at him expectantly.

“I’m fine, I just….I don’t even know what I am doing here…and I keep feeling like something is going to happen.”

Corridan slapped him on the shoulder then, laughing lightly, “Ner vod, you always have a feeling about something or another, this time just let yourself be still—there is supposed to be a feast after this, so it’s worth the trouble of putting on your cleaned armor for good food isn’t’ it?”

Torian smiled, swiping his hand across his forehead, a sheen of sweat there, “Sure, sure, food is always worth it.”

He didn’t actually mean it.

As it stood now, his heart was beating so wildly he was afraid it was just going to explode out of his chest, and he couldn’t think of any good reason to not run out of there. Not one. The thought of food made his stomach turn. He realized he had made a huge mistake coming there…he couldn’t shake the feeling that something big was coming, something that he wasn’t prepared for, something that was going to cause him a lot of problems—and then he considered how right he was—he was almost _always_ right about these feelings! He realized that it probably had everything to do with why Mand’alor had him there that day. Who knew what horrible thing the leader had planned for him.

“Torian!” Corriadan was looking at him sharply, his brow furrowed in question, “Vod, are you listening at all?

“Yes, of course,” Torian lied smoothly, “why?”

“I asked you where your helmet was?”

Torian twisted around looking for it, trying to think of where he left it, his eyes scanning the room quickly for it, but not seeing it.

“They just called the five-minute mark,” Corridan gestured around them at the other Mandalorians who were taking to their places in preparation for the presentation, “you need your helmet!”

Torian’s eyes were wide, and Corridan grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him lightly, “I have no idea what in the world is wrong with you, but you need to get a grip vod! It’s fine, just for the love of all things Empire get your sheb over there on your mark and stand at attention! I hear the Huntmaster out in the hall!”

Torian did as Corridan ordered, stepping to his mark, placing his feet there and standing at rigid attention.

The others had also moved into their places, forming two lines with a center aisle between them. The Huntmaster, a gigantic beast of a Wookie came into the room, ducking as he entered, laughing and talking to someone else. He walked toward them, coming to the line of warriors, walking through and then stopping directly in front of Torian, turning slowly to face him.

“Forget something, Mando’ade?” his eyes stared straight ahead at Torian’s blond hair.

“Yes, sir,” Torian responded sharply, his eyes staring at the fur on the Wookie’s chest, not daring to look up.

The Huntmaster made a noise that sounded like some kind of expression of amusement, turning to walk to the front of the room without another word. Torian could have sworn he heard him mutter something about it being “better this way”, but he couldn’t be sure and wasn’t about to ask for clarification. His eyes cut across to Corridan who had what was bound to be a permanent smirk planted firmly across his face, glinting in his eyes through the cut in his helmet.

In the Hallway, Raeyn had been struggling with all of the people talking to her about all of the things she needed to do now, and all she wanted to do was _walk in that room_!

She _needed_ to walk into that room.

Every person who stopped to advise her or talk to her or anything else was delaying her from being able to do that. She was positive that they all thought it was because she was so eager to be named “Grand Champion of the Hunt” or whatever other accolades would come with winning this, but that wasn’t why, it was the furthest thing from her mind truthfully.

She rushed past the last person, glancing at Mako with a begging expression to get her to intercept the guy who was heading her direction with a packet of papers. Mako got the message and jumped between them, cutting the man off, while Raeyn rushed to the doorway, practically running to it, stopping herself just inside the door, taking a deep breath, before she ran through there like a crazy person.

_That would be one heck of a first impression._

She looked straight down the aisle where the Huntmaster was standing, his hand gesturing her to enter the room. She started to take a step, holding her breath, when a burst of music began playing beside her and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked over to see a band playing some kind of music meant to make the whole affair feel very official and important, but it just managed to scare her half to death and cause her already accelerated heart rate to double up on itself.

She took a deep breath, opening her eyes, drawing them down to the thin line of light that hovered at her chest—the ribbon of light swaying gently as it reached across the room. Her eyes followed the stream as it moved away from her, it was brilliant and white and clear and brighter than she had ever seen it before. It was leading to someone in _this_ room, she couldn’t see who but it was someone on the right side of the line. She nearly jumped up and down in her excitement, wanting to rush to see who it was.

_My Mandalorian._

She heard shuffling feet behind her, glancing back where Mako was standing in the doorway, her eyes wide, “go, go, he’ll be there after you finish this!” She laughed at Raeyn’s expression, reaching forward and shoving her the first step.

Raeyn carefully pushed one foot in front of the other, her body practically vibrating with excitement, feeling a lot like her entire being was on some kind of auto-pilot as she made her way to the beginning of the line of Mandalorians. She wanted to look to see _him_ , she wanted to reach out to him, to know his name.

She walked, forward, one step leading her closer.

Torian couldn’t begin to explain the way the room felt like it was closing in on him as he heard the shuffle of people outside the doorway. He could feel sweat beading up all over his body, his hands were shaking violently, and he slapped them against his armor sharply trying to make them stop. Corridan hissed at him, causing him to be even more jittery.

_ Haar'chak! Ni Me'bana!? _

He saw a blur of pink and white at the doorway and he thought he was going to pass out as the room began spinning. He closed his eyes tightly trying to stop the motion, his stomach lurching violently. He wondered for a second if he’d eaten something bad, then having gone quickly through his last few meals he realized all he had eaten was yai'yai bars. Not possible to get a bad one of them, the crazy food could last for centuries and never lose its freshness.

He heard the new Champion walking into the room, his hearing was honed and sensitive enough to hear someone saying “go, go”, he wondered why the Champion was reluctant about accepting his reward, this was a great honor and something anyone would be thankful to accept. He didn’t have time to ponder it further as when he opened his eyes the Champion was standing at the start of the line, just a few feet from him. He felt like the air was closing in around him.

His eyes cut across to see him, eyes widening and his breath caught up in his throat when he saw that he was actually _a she_. Not just a she but ‘ _the she’_. The _only_ woman he had _ever_ seen. The only woman he _would_ _ever see again_. The room was tilting violently, he wished someone would help him, unsure of how much longer he was going to be  able to stand.

Raeyn had passed the woman on her right, her eyes cutting to the side to see the next person, to see _him._ The glow around him was bright, full, and she was having trouble making out any features—so much light, she could tell he was _tall_. Everything else was  obscured by the light flaring around him.

_I need more than this. Please, please, I’ve waited so long!_

Her foot went forward again, mostly against her will, she was directly beside him, she had to use every ounce of self-control to not turn her head to try to see his face.

Her heart was being pulled like it was bound to him, like the strings were wrapped around him, and he was grabbing the lines with both fists, jerking her toward him. She felt the room blossoming with light everywhere, colors she had never seen and had no name for, and yet she pushed forward, moving ahead to the gigantic Wookie at the head of the room.  Her heart stayed there in front of the man with the lights around him.

The Champion was in front of him now, and his eyes were fixated on her, it was like he had never really seen anything before this moment. Like all of the colors and hues he had ever noticed were dulled and filtered through gray and suddenly everything was clear and bright and he could hear her heart beating, or maybe that was his? He couldn’t be sure, but she was there and it was like a force pulling him toward her, his body yearning to fall at her feet, to ask her to never leave, to bind himself to her forever.

His entire body was shaking, the armor on his chest rattling lightly, his hands clenched by his sides as he ordered them in no uncertain terms—they were NOT going to reach out and touch her, despite the way they ached to do so. She had moved past him, forward to the end of the line where the Huntmaster was waiting. He said some words that sounded like pure gibberish in his ears, the entire time, the world was swirling and spiraling, while he was having a very strongly worded talk with himself about self-control.

Raeyn heard but couldn’t really comprehend the worlds the Wookie was saying, she wanted to understand but she couldn’t….her mind wasn’t clear—it was foggy and consumed with the glowing man. She wanted to see him, wanted to know him, wanted to hear her name on his lips. She thought she might hyperventilate when the Wookie gestured for her to turn around and he was going to say some kind of official words that recognized her as the Grand Champion.

_Yes, yes, hurry, please, hurry._

Her eyes stayed forward as long as she could stand it, trying to be dignified and show respect for what was happening here, and then apart from her will they cut over to the glowing man. He was shaking, she could tell by the light around him bobbling and weaving as he moved, his head was facing forward and she could make out the faint outline of his hair, fair and bright, and as she stared the rattling became stronger.

_I know. I feel you._

She jumped when everyone started clapping and shouting happy congratulatory words, her signal to walk back out of the room. She wanted to run to him, sooth him, her eyes following him as she walked. His eyes were on her, she could feel it, she could feel the warmth of them on her skin. She glanced up at him as she passed him, their eyes connecting for one moment, everything blurring and slowing, all of the world fell away.

The noise, and the lights, and the place, and every activity, and memory, and past faded away for a moment and all that was in all of existence was their souls. Rising up between them, slowly meeting one another, spinning in a stream of light, weaving and caressing one another, melting together, whispering their names, and then reluctantly letting go as her feet carried her further and further away from him.

_Her soul cried out._

_His answered the call._

Torian watched as she was pulled out of the room by a group of important looking people, his entire being nailed to the floor but wanting nothing more than to rush after her, to grab her and never let her go. His hand flew to his chest, where a deep pain was radiating outward as if there was a raging burning inside there.

The other Mandalorians were mulling around, talking and laughing, heading to the feast. Torian couldn’t look away from the door. He felt a strong hand rest on his shoulder, turning to see the Huntmaster standing so close to him he blocked the rest of the room from his view. Torian looked up at him, blinking rapidly from not closing his eyes for so long, and while it was generally not an easy thing to tell what kind of emotion a Wookie might be feeling at any given time, he got the feeling that this one was sad.

“A piece of advice?” the Wookie spoke softly to him, Torian nodded.

“A thing of strength, of intelligence, of bravery, of beauty, one that our heart yearns to know forever, that is priceless, yes?” The Wookie leaned down a little to be closer to Torian’s face.

Torian nodded, something he knew nothing about an hour ago, but felt raw with the reality, with the need of it now, “yes,” he whispered.

“The mistake most make is to grab on too tightly, to use both fists to hold it captive to us because we would rather cage it than to risk losing it.”

The Huntmaster sighed, and Torian felt like maybe this was something that he must have had some kind of personal experience with.

“True love, the kind that lasts forever—darasuum—it does not thrive in a cage, young friend, cannot, more importantly, should not be kept in a prison.” He gestured around the room, sweeping, “these walls—they hold the people here, but they are free to leave, because a whole world, a galaxy, a universe is outside of these barriers.”

Torian struggled to understand where this was going, his eyes studying the Wookie. The Wookie reached out to take both of Torian’s hands which had been clenched tightly into fists since before the Champion had walked into the room, the Wookie’s fingers digging in between his fingers until his hands were flat and laying in the palms of the Wookie’s hands.

“You can do this,” the Wookie closed his fists around Torian’s hands, swallowing them whole, completely disappearing inside of his larger fists, “all of the beauty is hidden, it is stifled, it cannot grow, shine the way it was meant to—all of its potential _lost_ —or, you can do this,” and the Wookie opened his hands and Torian’s hands lay flat against them again.

“Can’t hold her too tight, you have time to understand—she isn’t here now, she moved out of your reach, but the time will come, believe me young vod, when she will walk back into your orbit again. When she does, _do not do this_ ,” his hands clenched Torian’s again, then released them, “hold her softly, loosely, pel, and she will never— _draar_ —leave you.”

_Hold her softly. Loosely. Pel._

“Be the ground beneath her feet, supporting her to walk boldly, confidently, and knowing that if she falls you will be there to catch her, you will absorb the fall,” he lifted Torian’s hand up with one of his, shaking it lightly, then quickly dropping it down onto his other hand, the two hands barely moving, “the ground takes the impact, hardly even shakes because it is so strong, capable, ready to do what it needs to do to protect where she walks. You be her ground. If you aren’t, you’re holding too tight, too firm, then you are this,” the Wookie took his fist and dropped it down into Torian’s open hand, a loud smack sounding through the room, and his palm stinging from the blow of it.

_Softly. Loosely. Pel. Be the ground, not the prison._

The Wookie stared at Torian for a long moment, Torian wanting to say so many words, but only able to open and close his mouth, when the Wookie nodded firmly, slapped him on the back, turned and walked toward the door, waving off someone who wanted to talk to him as he stopped at a bench by the door.

Torian looked down into his hand where there was a now a necklace, he picked it up to examine it. It was on a long leather cord, wound with another piece of leather was a bundle of what looked like pale blonde fur, two long strips with pearl beads tapering down the sides of it. Torian looked up to find the Huntmaster, to give it back to him, his eyes landing on him standing by the bench.

He held up something in his hands, gesturing to Torian, who started to walk toward him. Torian couldn’t make out what it was, but he nodded at the Huntmaster who turned to walk out of the room. He stopped at the bench where his helmet was sitting.

_What kind of game is the Huntmaster playing anyway? Need to return this to him._

He heard the Wookie call from the other room, “keep it, Cadera, you need the reminder more than I do.”

He couldn’t help laughing then, confused but sure that something extraordinary had happened here, he was mulling over the Wookie’s words, holding the necklace in his hand, reaching up to tuck it in the top of his armor, gathering up his helmet.

"Ow..." he murmured as his hand landed on his chest again. The pain consistent, radiating through his body, still, he'd known pain, as far back as he could remember. Pain in his head, his heart, his soul. Heartache of every kind, every measure. This, while certainly painful, felt more like pain with purpose, like the laboring contractions of a woman giving birth--who knew she could endure the pain for the result of the babe in her arms after the pains were finished. He would endure this pain, because he knew, despite not really knowing _how_ he knew--this _is pain with purpose_

He slapped his hand on his chest once, a small battle cry issuing from him as he began to master his body again. He looked across the room where Corridan was, walking to him on shaky legs, clapping him on the back and saying something perfectly normal about heading to the feast, despite the fact that he wouldn’t be able to think about anything other than the Champion, and a Wookie’s advice.

_Wookie advice. Who would have ever thought it?_

Raeyn had nearly fallen to pieces as she was pulled out of the room, a handful of people ushering her out of the building into a waiting shuttle. Crysta talking loudly in her ear, "you done real good out there, honey!" She felt her hand pat her back softly before her voice started to fade.

"Crysta!" she called her name as loudly as she could, twisting to try and see her, panic in her voice, "the feast! We're supposed to go! I need to go!"

"Naw, honey!" Crysta yelled back, as the group swept Raeyn away from her, "that is for all those Mandalorians--you've got bigger company to keep, darlin! You're the big shot now! Go show them what you got!"

Raeyn turned to try to find Mako--there were so many people, all of them so consumed with what they wanted, caught up in their own excitement, none of them were moving slowly enough to see that she was dying inside. She tried to stop, grabbing onto Mako, who was being drug along with her.

“Mako, I can’t go, I need to go back!” she tried to explain, her other hand shooting up to clench her chest, a pain bursting outward like a vice grip was squeezing it while trying to rip it through her chest wall at the same time. Mako was trying to talk over the people, trying to get them to listen but no one could hear her over their own blustering voices, pushing them, handing them folders and datapads, stacking things up--trying to give them to Mako who refused to let go of Raeyn's hand. They were telling the driver instructions about being transported to the spaceport for departure. Everyone smiling and happy and excited, and Raeyn was screaming inside, wanting to break through all of them to get back to that room.

_To him. Please._

Instead, she allowed herself to be pushed onto the shuttle, slamming down into the seat and her body swaying violently when the vessel broke loose and started moving. Mako rushed to her side, steadying her as she swayed, nearly falling out of the seat. She felt a tear slide down her cheek and Mako reached over to take her hand. With her other hand she pulled up her holocom, pushing the button and holding it out in front of Raeyn.

Raeyn stared straight ahead as an image appeared, the man’s voice excited, “How’d it go? Was it amazing? What’s his name? Tell me everythi…”

He stopped short when he realized that Raeyn was leaning forward, soft sobs shaking her body.

“Raeyn?” the man focused, his eyes moving to Mako.

“I don’t think this was supposed to happen this way? Was it?” Mako whispered, shaking her head.

“Where is he?”

“Back at Mandalorian Heaquarters, we’re being transferred to the spaceport to be sent somewhere to talk to someone, I have no idea,” she gestured to the stack of papers in the seat next to her, “I’m sure once I sort through that I’ll have a better idea of what’s going on with her moving forward.”

“Damn,” he shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts, speaking softly, “Name?”

“Torian Cadera. Mandalorian, just as you’d said, there’s some kind of issue with his standing with the clans—I’m not clear on it, but I’ll do some digging when I get back to the ship.”

“I’ll see what I can find on my end and let you know.”

Mako nodded, “I’m sure you can get more info than I could. Is this normal?”

He had been staring at Raeyn, but his eyes shifted to look at Mako, "nothing about anything is normal when it comes to us, you know that."

"Don't patronize me, you know what I mean!" she used a louder voice than she had intended, lowering her volume, "I don't know what to do here, Niko."

"This is normal, fine, not normal to have to be separated after what? Thirty minutes after the soulbond?"

"Try...seven minutes...tops."

"What!?" he leaned forward then, his face furious, "what the hell did they do Mako? Make her run through the damn ceremony?"

Mako's voice was trembling, "I don't know Nikolaes! I don't know okay? I'm not the one in charge--usually--she is, and obviously," she gestured to Raeyn who appeared to be comatose, "she is not taking charge here. There were so many people and she was just...not herself, she was just not...her."

He took a deep breath, "I understand, it's okay Mako, you did the best you could, I didn't mean to imply otherwise, you know that. I just...it's not like I can go kidnap this kid and deliver him to her with a bow on his head. There are lines that can't be crossed."

Mako laughed lightly, "now you have boundaries?"

"I've always had boundaries when it comes to these issues. You can't force anything. That is not how this works. It's what it is, the pain is real no matter how long you've been bonded, you just adjust to it--separation will always hurt like hell. It's worse for her because it was such a short time together, it will fade, a little at a time until it's just a dull ache."

"It will never go away as long as they are apart," he leaned his head down into his hands for a moment, sighing heavily, his head lifting, he spoke softly, as if to a small child, his attention turned to Raeyn, "is the tether gone, Raeyn?"

She nodded her head once, letting her head drop back down. He released a whooshing breath, "then it's done, at least there's that. Whatever happens now, we'll just have to wait and see. I don't have any access to find out more right now." He growled then, slamming his fist on something making a loud crash, "I'm sorry."

"I understand," Mako whispered.

He made a soft, cooing noise, drawn out for several seconds, something that might sound like a word, but wasn’t quite, his eyes fixated on Raeyn.

Raeyn looked up at him, as if she had understood the noise he had made, his voice soft and loving, “It won’t always feel like this, nu'tem'saer, the first time is the hardest, even if you can spend days with the person--it feels like your heart has been ripped out when you leave them. It will get better, I promise. Lo'Eldae'na sends her love, she said to make sure you contact her after you go to your meeting. She said to tell you Artus is very ‘nice’. I told her that upholstery is nice, carpets are nice, the man is the kriffing head of the entire Mandalorian population, the man has to be completely ehu'no'te. She told me to watch my mouth, naturally.”

He shrugged, smiling at Raeyn, who didn’t acknowledge anything he said, her expression blank, leaning over to Mako who pulled her into her arms and let her lay there.

“Mako?” the man asked, Mako looked away from Raeyn to the man.

She nodded, “I’ll make sure she sees this, I’ve recorded it.”

The man nodded then, his face serious, “One of us should have been there…it’s just…never mind…everyone was where they had to be, and the SIS is falling apart at the seams…it couldn’t have been any different I suppose, Mako, seriously, thank you.”

Mako smiled at the man, “I’m here, she’s my friend, I’ll help take care of her as long as I can.”

The man returned her smile then, “We all are thankful for you. Some of us more than others,” he smiled winking at her, “So when are you going to let me take you out, Mako?”

“Seems I heard you were in a relationship?”

His voice raised an octave, “What?? Who told you that?”

“Raeyn.”

“She lied.”

“She did not lie, she told me you’ve been knocking boots with your boss—I thought the SIS ran a professionally adept machine but now I think it’s just a free for all—you sweet talking your Keeper.”

“I…just…really? Damn it. Raeyn never has been able to keep secrets. The Keeper and I…it’s not a relationship is it? I mean…I just….she is…seriously, it’s not a relationship if you have only seen each other _socially_ three times?”

Mako laughed, not missing the fact that the man appeared rather wistful over the thought of the Keeper, “is that what you are calling it now, ‘socializing’,” she wagged her eyebrows as she said it, “I thought you had something going with that crazy Rattataki? And then Raeyn said something about some other new girl on your ship training under you—her words not mine—“I bet training isn’t the only thing she’s doing under him”—so what kind of ship you running over there, Agent?”

“Holy Hutt balls. Kriffing stupid as…seriously? First of all, the Rattataki would cut me, in my sleep……and probably shoot the pieces out of the airlock, over the course of days—the most important piece first….so I would know what I’d lost before I died a slow and painful death at her hands.”

“So you didn’t ‘socialize’ the Rattataki?”

He hesitated, “I didn’t say that exactly.”

Mako reached to turn the com off.

“Wait, wait! Mako, seriously, it was just for fun, she’s already brought three guys onboard, flaunting them in my face, it was just a momentary weakness. I am truthfully terrified of her. I’ve put three extra passcodes on my bedroom door! I am more terrified of her than the crazy maniacal metal woman in my engine room, so that’s _really_ telling you something.”

“And before you ask, no, never. She’s a metal woman for the love of Corellian Whiskey.”

“You flirted, huh?”

“Sure, she’s metal, I’m not dead, she’s pretty….well built?”

Mako snorted loudly, glancing to make sure she hadn’t disturbed Raeyn who had her head still leaned down hidden under her arms.

“I’d give them all up for you, Mako, just give me one chance…”

She laughed, shaking her head, “Never, you’re too old for me Ni—“

“What!? I am not! I am younger than her!” he pointed to Raeyn next to her.

“Yes, yes, I know how biology works, you are still too old for me, too much _experience_ …”

“Well, I don’t see how any lady could ever say that is a _bad_ thing…you know what they say about…”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Okay, okay, fine—I’ll see you soon and we can discuss this then.”

Mako rolled her eyes, “sure, sure, looking forward to it.”

The man held his chest as if he had been wounded, then laughed softly, “seriously though, Mako, take care of you, too.”

The image crackled for a moment and then disappeared.

 

* * *

 

The Sith couldn’t help but sigh wistfully as she realized how deeply Torian had been impacted by his first moments with Raeyn, same as she had been with him.

A soulbonding was a beautiful thing, but some people rebelled against it, either afraid, or so unsettled by it that they tainted the experience with a layer of fear that could reveal itself in unpredictable ways. It was always good when two souls responded with the same pitch and tone—a kind of harmony that was a pretty clear picture of their future together. It wasn’t that a less tranquil soulbond wouldn’t result in a beautiful relationship, but rather that the couple would be far more volatile—not always a bad thing, depending on the personalities involved.

She tested herself to see if she was too weary to continue, finding that she was still quite energized and could go on a bit further this day, so she focused again, sending her power and the healing force through Torian once more.

 

* * *

 

 **Hour 1**  
  
She couldn't remember much. She recalled a moment of blinding light, the sensation of being ripped apart, and then falling into black when Valkorian fell to the floor, her entire body frozen from the essence of him flowing through her body and soul. Then she woke...unable to move, unable to open her eyes. looking to all the world like she was frozen in time, but her mind, oh her mind, it was alert and active.   
  
She had to count her breaths then to keep from hyperventilating. It didn't work until she'd made herself pass out five times from lack of oxygen. A faint buzzing or ringing--she couldn't be sure which as it sounded like it was coming from inside herself--and then some kind of gears turning, rolling and twisting as the fading happened, ushering her into darkness, a momentary reprieve. Then a rush of cold air, strange prickling sensation on every inch of her skin and then she was again conscious—of what was around her.

 Especially, what wasn't around her. There was no air...not that she could feel. It was just cold on her skin, but not the kind that would be soothing after a hard day working in the sun. Rather this very impersonal kind of feeling cold. Just there but not like a second skin, close as it was to her body. More like a glove that fit just a little too tight. Not allowing her to move, not to even move her mouth to make a sound or wiggle her fingers.  
  
She started counting then, able to perform multiple thought processes at once, she kept time in her mind, a rough estimate of how long she had been there, in this state of being but not quite being alive.

_At least Torian is safe. At least my crew made it out alive. That makes everything worth it._

_He has to live._

 

* * *

 

 

 **Hour 12**  
  
There was a lot to be said about sleep. Something pretty much every sentient being in the universe took for granted, easy, simple, as necessary as breathing. Something done without even considering how important it is to your mental wellbeing. Until you couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't really remember what sleep felt like, she knew she had done it recently, but that was an induced sleep—something created by necessity or perhaps chemicals—she couldn’t remember which. She yearned to remember what that felt like, natural sleep, the drifting moment was when you were slowly moving from a state of consciousness into a place of quiet peacefulness. 

There was no peace here. Only her own thoughts, running in endless circles. She felt around her—searching for anything that might give her some anchor. She imagined that sleep would be something that would quiet her mind, if only for a moment.  
  
She missed it desperately.

She focused on Torian’s face, clear in mind, drifting in the comfort of his love for her. A moment of calmness in this storm. Content to know he was alive somewhere out there—and would be waiting for her when she was free.

Not if.

_When._

* * *

 

 

 **Hour 19**  
  
His voice came, slithering, hissing in her ear and she flinched, at least her soul did, as far as she could tell her body remained rigid and still—stone. She found herself somehow backing away from him after a few minutes, trying to find an escape and then she was there, standing, a form like her, it was her, she at least thought, and then she tested it and yes, it did feel like her. It felt real, and yet she was aware that it wasn't, somehow it was a mind trick, and her body was still locked inside carbonite.  
  
She turned and told him to leave her alone, confused about what was happening, where she was and why Valkorian was there with her. He talked to her, soothed her somehow making his words make sense in her muddled mind.

“I’ve long sensed in you something that I have been waiting for, you garnered my attention an entire universe away,” he had sat down on a rock near where she was standing looking out across the vast expanse of the desolate planet, “I have longed for you.”

“I would rather die than help you,” she spit at him, glaring over her shoulder.

“Death may yet stay your hand, my dear,” he smiled, a sad, yet still twisted smile, “but let us not focus on that now—I need you to understand.”

“There is no understanding to be had from you,” she muttered, jerking her body back to face away from him, “you are nothing but pure evil, and I won’t entertain your words, not one moment of them.”

“You will,” he whispered, not triumphantly, but forlornly, “I’m afraid you will.”

She lost herself in the odd sensation of the warm, stifling air blowing across her skin, closing her eyes, trying to calm down. She felt around her but all she felt was blankness, emptiness, a barren wasteland. No life, no force, nothing but death and destruction.

She walked and sat down on the ground a bit away from where Valkorian was sitting on the rock he’d claimed as his own, looking to all the world perfectly comfortable right where he was.

She grimaced as a wave of pain shot through her, hands flying up to her neck as she gasped for air, trying to take a deep breath but failing. Valkorian didn’t move, didn’t even respond at all.

The wave of discomfort passed and she struggled to calm her heart, to breath normally.

“You’re dying,” he said, toeing the loose ground with his foot, “at least, that’s what I am sensing. Something is killing you, and if you die, they will believe it is from a broken mechanism in the freezing container—poisoned is what they would say…but we…oh, we know better, don’t we?”

Her head jerked up, eyes boring into him at, “what do you think you know?”

 _“Everything_.”

She wanted to climb away from him, away from his eyes that looked through her—she reaching inside herself and relaxed when she discovered the hidden parts of her mind were untouched, unspoiled by him. The measures set to protect her from situations like this were holding fast. She shuddered, knowing that though he may not have made it past the secret parts of who she was, the ones held under lock and key—he had no doubt seen enough, knew enough, more than she would have ever volunteered.

It felt like she had been violated, like her own person had been laid out bare to him. Embarrassed, her cheeks flaming, realizing at once that he was in her mind, that he was privy to everything except the parts held by the lock, she curled her legs up, folding her arms around them, laying her head on them, a single tear dripping down from her eyes.

He talked then, talked about things she wasn’t paying attention to, talked as if to hear his own voice.

“You are a fascinating young woman, so much mystery, so many things I desire to understand. We’ll get there together, won’t we? You and I—we are going to be working together for such a time that is yet to come—and you will find a way to understand. To know what I truly want, and how it is not so very different than what you want.”  
  
She really wasn't paying much attention to his words, they all sounded so self-serving and ugly. She nodded or interjected when she thought she was supposed to but for the most part she was reaching out around her trying to find some idea of what was here and where here was.

“…you have been severed from it, everything is lost to you now, that’s the pull you feel, the longing. It will kill you eventually. You were never meant to be taken and sealed away like this. My daughter knew—she saw what you were, she meant to give you a slow and painful death, she recognized what the chamber would do to you, to your soul. I couldn’t have stopped her even if you hadn’t killed me.”

She wanted to tell him to shut up, to just be quiet, but the droning of his voice was somehow soothing, better than the utterly empty sound of silence when he wasn’t talking, and she certainly did not like the idea of trying to fill the void.

“…we can change the world. I want to help you, and show you how. Once you stop my children, once I understand you, we could work together to bring a harmony to the galaxy. You could rule with me, as an equal…”

  
The most nagging thing, the thing that just wouldn’t let her loose, was how she was doing what she was doing—there were no powers here to be had, there was no force, no light or dark, nothing to draw from, but she stood here, seemingly alive. She was still frozen somewhere else, but she felt real and solid, and her body could feel the temperature and process the feelings of the wind on her face. It was very surreal and somewhere back inside her stone cage she was still counting time.  
  
“I realized then that you were someone I needed, and we are bound now, I know you…”

She jumped up to her feet then, her stance to attack, her finger pointed at his face, “you don’t know me. You may have been in my head, and you may think that you know who I am, but you don’t—you know all of the tiny pieces but you do not know the whole. You know more than I would have ever wanted you to know—deep, holy, sacred things that your tainted mind should never have had the blessing of being shown from my soul. You may have seen the pictures, the images—but you don’t have a heart to be able to put them together into a full picture! You know NOTHING!”

He nodded, not arguing the point, “of course, I didn’t access everything, and I haven’t, and I won’t…in fact, _as you well know I_ _can’t_.  I am not here to usurp your authority over yourself. I would want you to reveal what is left willingly. I’m not here as your enemy.”

She studied his face, her hand dropping, leaning back up to stand upright, “that remains to be seen.”

He huffed out a breath standing up, brushing off his robes, “it would be much easier if you would just trust me.”

She laughed then, a dry, mirthful laugh, “you are the destroyer. I will never trust you.”

“Pity,” he said, turning to look across the landscape, “this could have been so simple.”

She glared at his back, wanting to shove him off the cliff’s edge. Unsure of what being bound with him would entail, and not willing to risk anything at this point knowing that there was some truth to it in the very heart of her.

_Simple isn’t my way. Never was. Never will be. I take the long way around._

“Very well,” he muttered, “have it your way. At least tell me what you are? Give me at least that, just to quell my curiosity.”

She shrugged at his back, flustered, “haven’t you already figured it out?”

He turned then, his face not giving away anything, “I might understand, but I would rather not guess, and that gate around the hidden secrets of your mind, you did not put that there. It has a different signature. It’s something I haven’t felt in a very, very long time.”

She shrugged, “you’re not going to get me to explain a single thing about me, or my life, ever.”

She emphasized the point by tapping her forehead twice. He laughed lightly his hands resting on his knees.

 “You are quite a clever girl,” he murmured, “I’d have you as one of my own if I could.”

She laughed then, shaking her head, “I would sooner die.”

“Yes,” he agreed gently, “I know you would. I would rather we both stay alive. If you don’t mind. Given that my fate is hinged to yours now, I hope you will at least try.”

“Not for you,” she hissed, turning away from him to start down the hill leading to the valley below, “not for one single second for you.”

“Of course not,” he shouted to her retreating back, “I would expect nothing less from you!”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I wish I could give major KUDOS to all of you! I tagged this story with the tag "timeline shenanigans" because from the minute I had opened a word document several months ago I *knew* that this would not read like a "traditional" story with a clear beginning, middle, and end. I know that this style might not be something every reader will appreciate--but I absolutely ADORE each of you who are sticking with it!!! I have the next seven chapters written and am just editing in between newer writing. I can't wait to get this up here for you! THANK YOU for your comments, kudos and every single one of the +1's to my read list! I couldn't appreciate you more! <3 <3 <3 
> 
> ______________
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Imh'ite : a term that changes depending on the tone it is voiced in--literally--peace, please--however, in this context it is the basic equivalent to *can you please shut up*
> 
> Haar'chak! Me'bana? [HAR-chak! may-BAHN-ah!] Damn it! What's happening?
> 
> yai'yai [YAY-aye] *richly nourishing* - peculiarly Mandalorian description of dense, high-calorie food, of great importance to people dependent on highly portable field rations
> 
> darasuum [dah-RAH-soom] forever
> 
> pel [pail] soft, yielding
> 
> draar [drahr] never
> 
> nu'tem'saer : tiny innersoul, a term of endearment
> 
> Lo'eldae'na : our mother
> 
> ehu'no'te : a slang word that basically means *bad ass*


	5. Ratiin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost forgot so I am adding this up here!
> 
> There is a music video to compliment chapter 4 located on my youtube channel here:
> 
> https://youtu.be/f6skx8SAqBY
> 
> AND there is a video (major spoilers for the new chapter XVI) of Raeyn and Torian and the cutest scene ever:
> 
> https://youtu.be/H22wCPSygj0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo....I wrote this chapter to mostly stand alone and neither progresses the story or reveals any new information really. While there are a few things that I put in here because they are part of the experience for the characters, it might create more questions than answers haha That said, the things that are here will be in the next chapter with a full explanation!
> 
> THANK YOU ALL so much and this is a HAPPY BIRTHDAY gift for you, my precious readers!
> 
> This chapter is NOT SAFE FOR WORK.
> 
> Translations are available at the end or at this link:
> 
> http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/post/148824115606/the-pages-between-chapter-5-ratiin
> 
> * * *

* * *

Raeyn had been sitting up on the console in the bridge of her ship for at least an hour. She couldn’t sleep, having spent too much time tossing and turning _carefully_ in an effort to not bother Torian. Force knows the man needed to get some rest, and she hadn’t been giving him much opportunity to—partly because they had been so busy with one universal meltdown threat after another—and partly because as newlyweds who had spent all of their lives saying “no”, once the vows were spoken, there was not nearly enough time in the world for all the times they wanted to say “yes”.

Sleep was at a premium these days—though she certainly wasn’t one to complain about that, given the nature of her wakeful nights. Even when she did sleep the last few days it seemed like there was some distant thought nagging at her but she couldn’t yet understand what it meant.

She had considered surprising Torian in bed, instead of leaving the room—she had several clever ideas about how to wake him, but when she had twisted a bit, his arm laying across her tummy, hand clenched against her hip, breath a gentle whisper on her face as he slept so soundly, she just couldn’t do it even if he would have gladly invited her to.

Once she’d given up on sleeping, she carefully moved one of his fingers at a time to ease herself out of his arms, trying her best to not wake him. It took her ten minutes of painstakingly precise movements.

As she slid out of the bed, she pushed a pillow toward him, smiling when his arms instinctively reached out and pulled it into him, holding it against his chest—humming a soft, purring sound in his sleep. She reached over to the desk, grabbing one of his long shirts, buttoning it up quickly while she padded softly to the door, rolling the sleeves up above her elbows, tapping her toes as she walked, the metal cool and soothing to her tired feet.

They needed a _real_ honeymoon. Somewhere warm, and maybe even rainy, and where there was no technology to interrupt them ten times a day—and some kind of crazy beasts to fight, a lot of them, so they could spend the days hunting and the nights staying dry and warm by a fire together under the moon—privately.

_Without crew members._

As much as she absolutely loved her crew, she was ready to go somewhere they could do _anything_ they desired, _anytime_ they wanted, without fear of a million different scenarios, mostly involving Gault happening.

She smiled thinking of a waterfall she had read about once—it was described in such detail she could see it in her mind, a beautiful place and to her, she could picture a picnic laid out on a blanket there—Torian wearing some kind of white, soft, loose pants because… _who cares_ , she decided first that she was allowed to do whatever she wanted in her fantasy, and the next time she was at the market she was finding a pair of them for him. White pants, and nothing else. They would discover the joys of water in a whole new way.

The fresher would _never_ be an option. _Never._

She was lost in her daydreams as she tapped the pad to open the door, cringing when the sliding metal whooshed open, looking back over her shoulder, holding her breath.

She paused, still seriously considering turning back around and utilizing her charms on him instead, but when she studied him to make sure the noise hadn’t disturbed him, he was so absolutely adorable all curled around the pillow she gave him that she couldn’t even justify waking him up.

She tiptoed out of the doorway and cursed softly as the panel made the clicking. grinding sound as the lock mechanism engaged. She turned to look back in the room, acknowledging that she really did need to get some rest when she bumped her forehead on the door. She shrugged figuring if he didn’t wake when the door opened it was unlikely he did when it closed.

She walked slowly across the ship, admiring how many details they had filled their space with—making the entire ship less sterile and more of a moving, flying _home_. She breathed deeply the smell of an herbal plant Gault had brought on board making the center of the ship smell of sweet spices. It was peaceful in the ship with everything quiet, her crew sleeping soundly—she was thankful. Their lives had taken so many unexpected turns lately, so many people pulling them in multiple directions—they deserved a few hours of respite away from it all.

She climbed the steps to the bridge, smiling as the aural colors of the nebula they were passing cast it’s colorful countenance on the interior of her ship. She’d climbed carefully up on the console, to the section beside the edge of the windows where she was sure to not push any buttons, or alter the course that Mako had no doubt diligently set. She crossed her legs and leaned into the palms of her hands, letting the light show outside the ship carry her away into her mind.

She’d been so lost in her thoughts, so mesmerized by the colors and the soft glowing lights radiating off of the equipment and casting colors across all of the glass surfaces—along with the gentle sounds of static from the stars--she didn’t hear Torian enter the room. He wasn’t trying to be stealthy, in fact, he had learned early on it was a _very good_ idea to never sneak up on Raeyn. The woman had weapons _everywhere_.

She jumped when his hand reached around her, then relaxed when she felt his heart beat on her back, his hands spanning to rest on her stomach as he leaned down and around her to kiss her cheek.

“N’eparavu takisit,” he mumbled, brushing her hair to the side to caress her neck with soft, fluttering kisses, breathing deeply in the scent that was uniquely hers, “thought you heard me.”

She laughed quietly, “I was too distracted.” Her hand reached up to grab his chin, lifting his face and pointing it out the window.

He stood still for a moment, taking the vision in, before he turned his face back to her, returning to the light nibbles he had been placing along her neck.

“Didn’t notice,” he sucked lightly on the skin behind her ear, making her pull her shoulders up a the ticklish yet pleasant sensation, “nothing compared to you.”

His hand moved from her stomach to her shoulder, slowly running down her arm until he could lift it up in front of her, nodding toward the play of colors on her skin, dancing across the pale surface. The iridescent markings on her skin looking like they were shimmering and moving in the light—as if they were alive on her skin. She shifted sideways, stretching her legs to rest beside his own, turning her face up to him. He felt his breath catch in his throat as the lights from the nebula glistened and sparkled in a dance on the symbols on her face. Her eyes bright and warm under the wash of colors, staring at him, basking in the way he looked at her.

“Aren’t you just a charmer tonight, Cadera,” she reached out to grab the band on his pants, pulling him forward for an appreciative kiss, releasing him quickly, leaning down to rest her forehead on his belly.

“Naasad jehaat lar,” he whispered, “ori'haat.” His hands stroked her hair softly, looking out the window, then back to her below him, his brows furrowing as his eyes swept over her face, “Me'vaar ti gar?”

She shrugged, waving her hand lightly at him, “Ori di'kutla.” She turned her head to lay her face against his warm skin, watching the lights play on the glass, his hand pulling her hair to over her shoulder, coming to rest on the side of her face, as if to hold her to him forever.

He grunted, a very familiar noise that could have a wide variety of meanings depending on the context. She considered herself an expert at deciphering the sound—concluding this one meant he wasn’t going to accept her being dismissive of whatever was bothering her.

“Just the same nonsense,” she reached around him with both arms, holding him tightly around his waist, “I just…can’t get away from the dreams.”

She glanced around the room, so much seriousness there, despite all of the colors that made the dull grays and blacks look cheerful. Out of all the rooms on the ship—this was the only one that was all business, all the time—the way it had to be she supposed, nothing in the room held any personality like all the other rooms in the ship. Blizz had even hung up some of the tiny mechanical toys that he created while they were stuck on an unusually long trade route in the engine room—making a long garland of them that hung from one side of the room to the other.

This space though, was desolate. Completely without personality. She had no happy memories connected with this room at all. It felt cold and ugly to her. There were no associations that were positive, nothing that said anything other than ‘today we go to life or death’…and she wondered if there were ways that she could make the bridge more like the rest of the ship, more like a home.

“I’m going to bring some flowers in here,” she muttered, squeezing his waist.

“Ni haa'taylir,” he laughed lightly, glancing around the room wondering where she might put said flowers, “Tion'jor?”

“This place is too dead,” she pulled away from him, tilting her head to look up to him, resting her chin on his stomach, “I can’t find any peace or happy here, even with the beauty outside because this room has no soul.”

He understood what she meant, it had taken him quite some time before they were married to understand that she had a very _unique_ connection with things. Objects, places, rooms, all of it—everything. Her own memories of a given space or object became a living part of the environment, and she felt all feelings on a very deep level.

He leaned down, his lips lightly brushing hers, leaning his nose in to nuzzle hers, his eyes bright, his voice velvety, softly suggestive, “ _could help you with that._ ”

His eyes moved over her skin as her face flushed, the color gradually moving down her neck into his shirt she was wearing, smiling against her lips, “Meh ni'copaanir.”

“Could you then?” she softly bit his bottom lip, pulling it into her mouth, laughing gently when he rolled his shoulders, his entire body shuddering visibly.

“You always do that,” he laughed, his hands pulling up on her face so she would stand up in front of him, her eyebrows raising in question, “not innocent, same as when we train—use my weaknesses.”

She leaned up on her tiptoes, kissing him quickly, “you love me for it, besides, that is what makes me such an effective hunter…which keeps us both alive.”

He didn’t argue, just leaned down, his hand stroking down her back, then pulling her forward and up from behind, his hands heavy and wide, pressing her body against his, already wired and thrumming with energy. His mouth touched hers, softly, gently, invitingly. His body curling in to shelter her—the soft, sweetness of his lips like the fluttering pressure. His hands drew up into the underside of her hair, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as her hands held onto his forearms, clenching them tightly as their tongues began slowly melding into a greedy conversation, each of them pressing the other for more.

While not having any experience with women prior to Raeyn, as with any other skill or challenge he found he was a quick study—spending the time to map out her body, and learn her responses—he found that bringing her pleasure was a lot like the hunt—it required a certain level of innate instinct, a passion for the hunt as much as the kill, following the patterns, knowing your prey, paying close attention to details, and probably the most important of all—devotion and dedication to seeing the hunt through to the end.

He’d never had a problem with that in any context before, and it was not something he would willingly submit to failure when it came to his Riduur. He had used every single day since he’d met her studying her—and once they were married, he used his extensive knowledge to test--experiment, and still, the discoveries were all still new and fresh. He had ascertained her experience hinged on a great deal of factors that he couldn’t really understand—physical, emotional, spiritual—it didn’t change the fact that unlike a sprint with the goal being to finish as quickly as possible—giving himself to her was an act of endurance—one of his most acutely honed abilities.

His most valuable discovery was that her most erogenous zone was her _mind._ He had no trouble at all keeping her mind tuned to his desires and of the way he saw her, daily life itself being his best tool of seduction.

His mouth left hers, showering across her face, flutters of tiny kisses, his thumb pressing her chin up as his head ducked down to pepper her neck with kisses, moaning as his other hand popped the top two buttons off of her shirt as he dragged it down off her shoulder, the lights glittering across the symbols as they were exposed, his head following the path of his eyes, continuing the exploration with his mouth.

She gasped as he bit gently down on her shoulder. He leaned back from her, a few inches of space between them, Raeyn issuing a sound of protest. He didn’t waste any time, drawing his hand sharply down the front of her shirt, the fabric yielding as he pulled, the sound of buttons scattering across the metal floor mixing with their labored breath.

“You’re…serious?” Looking up at his face, the question answered in the blazing fire behind his eyes, her heart caught up in her throat as he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around him while he pressed her against the long panel of glass to the side of the console where she had been sitting, pushing his body against hers, rolling his hips roughly against her, a bold statement of his intentions, his desire all consuming.

Her breath shuddered, turning her head sideways as his mouth traveled to the spot where her neck met her collarbone, his tongue speaking straight through her skin, setting her on fire, seeking out the newly exposed skin as he drew the shirt to the side, tracing his tongue along the radiant ancient writing, following it across her chest, the designs and the light on her body causing his breath to catch in his throat, “Gar’akur kar'am, Cyare.” His voice was reverent, worshipping—his tongue tracing the path of words, Raeyn instinctively pressing her chest forward into his mouth, offering herself.

“Gar mesh'la. Ni'copad duumir cetar taap'runi,” as he uttered the words he feverishly made his way back up to her mouth, his tongue providing emphasis, “Gedet’ye.”

She drew a sharp breath as his mouth left hers, “Here, Torian?”

His sights set to resume his adoration, moving slowly back down to her breasts, languidly, rolling his hips against her in a delightful pattern that made his intentions more than clear. Raeyn released a shuddering sigh, her body responding to his words and his attention, wanting to lay on the pyre for him, breathless as she murmured, “yes, that’s a…a yes then…”

His body held her firmly against the wall as one of his hands ran down across her thigh, moving under the bottom edge of the shirt, caressing the curve of her thigh moving upward, cursing softly when he discovered she didn’t have anything else on, his fingers whispering sweetly against the tender folds of her skin, coaxing, bringing her to life, preparing her, while his other hand came up to her face, his finger resting gently across her mouth as if to say “shhh”—she smiled wickedly, tilting her head back slightly, reaching forward to lick straight up his finger.

His body froze like an animal who had been threatened and was preparing to either flee or fight, his other hand pressed into her twisting, eliciting a base sound from her. Her body quaking as he bit down on the curve of her breast above her heart, a low warning coming from deep inside his body.

Encouraged, she twisted her head sideways and pulled his finger into her mouth, her hands squeezing his shoulders, lifting her body up to give him better access, as she rolled her tongue around it as she slowly sucked and pulled her head back, the vibration of her moan sending currents through his body, shivering, the finger popping out of her mouth.

The moment it was free, she was in motion, being spun around as he moved in what felt like mere seconds to the chair beside the console, he stepped around it as it was facing the doorway, shuffling his legs as he moved.

He sat down, a small noise when the cold metal hit his skin, somehow in the few seconds between the console and the chair, having divested her completely of the shirt, and without her really understanding how, he’d removed his own pajama pants in the process.

_Mando’ade. Agility. Is. The. Best._

She smiled as her knees landed to the side of Torian’s, getting settled into the seat, the arms touching the outer edges of her thighs as he lifted himself up, his mouth seeking hers, begging. His fingers reaching between them, testing her, confirming she was thoroughly awakened.

She was consumed by his need for her, her own need responding to the song, all of her cells seeming to be crying out at once, she pushed his hand away, pressing forward, sinking down, their connection making the lights in the room spin, her body answering his trembling.  Her head fell back, long hair brushing against his hands that were softly stroking her back, his mouth burning a path down her chest, as she yielded her body to welcome him, rotating her hips when her thighs rested on his.

A low, feral growl came out of him, his hands grabbing her backside and lifting her slowly, then pushing downward on her hips, she let him guide her body, lost in the sensations, allowing herself to be washed along the flow with him as he set the path of motion and the pace they would travel.

Slowly her body found its own rhythm as one of his hands reached between them, enticing her building tension into a slow burning climb, as she looked down her eyes opening to see his face, his mouth open, jaw slack, reaching up to steal a kiss when his eyes met hers. His fingers kept the pace her hips were setting. He drew away slowly, his eyes fixed on hers, she saw there the discipline, the result of a lifetime mastering his body, of restraint, of absolute self-control—his eyes speaking loudly to his need, as he waited, his body tense and coiled, ready to strike but denying himself until the right moment.

Time seemed to stand still, or at least slow down, the light of their souls binding in the air around them. They were swept up into the beauty of their dancing souls.

_Gar serim, ner Mando'ade Riduur_ _. Duumir cuun'runi mureyca._

He grunted softly in approval, the words spilling out of her mouth without her even realizing it, he knew this pattern well, having honed his observational skills since he began training at the age of three—being so connected to her allowed him the insights to read her body like a novel—the further and further she would move away from the chains that hold her down to this world, her words became less and less coherent, and her filter disappeared completely, her thoughts being spoken subconsciously.

His free hand lifted to stroke her face softly, coaxing her down to look at him, her face flushed, whispy strands of hair sticking to her forehead, she was radiant, his hand brushed them away, his eyes holding hers.

“ _Ratiin_. ”

A single word spoken with such absolution, such passion—filled with as much conviction as any word that had ever been spoken.

He felt the way her movements began to become lax and sloppy, her mind and body moving in too many directions to maintain a steady pace. He held her eyes as he took over the motion—lifting her body gently with his hands, knowing this part by heart, the way she needed to be touched, handled—to give her the freedom to relinquish the control, to just _feel everything._ His hands held her around the waist—his fingers nearly wrapping all the way around her—adjusting his position so he could better guide her there.

With great purpose, intent on his goal, he pressed forward, enticing her, denying his own responses to the captivating vision of his Riduur, the script that graced her body, lit up and flowing with color, each imprint whispering its secrets to him. He continued his momentum, conscious of the intensity of the way her body, her soul, was setting every cell in his body aflame. She leaned her head down on his forehead, her breath coming in tiny little gasps, her hands grasping, gripping, rolling across the muscles in his arms, savoring them, the feel of his muscles under her skin, his strength, moving to his chest, before she locked onto his shoulders—holding herself steady.

Her name whispered from his mouth, washing across her skin as if he were uttering a deeply personal prayer, a pledge, and the sound of it as it poured over her made the colors in the room multiply, her body losing its tempo completely—trusting him to carry her forward—he studied her then, watching as she chased the pleasure, spreading across her, as each cell within her began the song of ages, pulsing with pleasure, contracting with each movement.

Her hands grabbing his hair, pulling, as she tipped backwards, her body bowing in an arc, toes curled as the sensations almost became too much, his hands holding her back firmly as she leaned onto them, trusting him to support her, his name sounding across the space wrapped inside of a soft, melodic intonation that made him smile through his own breathlessness.  

 _“Ni ganar'gar, Mesh'la, runi abiik'shaadlar,”_ he urged her.

She bit her bottom lip between her teeth to stay the loud sounds that wanted to burst from her, instead her low, steady, keening brushing over him as his eyes filled up with the exquisite sight of her release.

His body rising up then, preserving the cadence to guide her through the pleasure, his hips moving softly, touching the places her soul had shown him, one hand on her back, the other pressed to her abdomen, his fingers spanned out across her muscles, his mouth reaching forward, intent to worship her beauty, purposefully stretching out the sensations, drawing forth every last whimper, denying himself, holding his body to exacting standards as it moved to please her, her body drinking deeply of his love, accepting it, glowing from it.

Her breath pulled inward violently, and held, everything in her locked for a moment, while every muscle contracted, and then as the air pushed out—the sound resonating through him as his name carried through the room, her body tipping forward, pressing to his.

Her voice was hoarse, her breath shuddering as the words swept between them, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Torian, darasuum.”

Her mouth landed on his, saying more than the words her brain was capable of forming, as she wrapped herself around him, savoring the moment, her head falling to rest on his shoulder as she slowly swayed against him.

His head tipped back, landing with a light thud on the hard plane of the chair, closing his eyes for a moment from the sensations that were threatening to overwhelm him. His mouth forming the words to return her affection, desperate for her to know how much he loves her, needs her, wants her, when she abruptly slammed her body back down, her hips rolling violently, squeezing, then lifting slightly before she dropped back down again, hard.

His eyes flew open, his body bolting up, his face a mix between pleasure and pain--his hands shot to her waist, wrapping around her firmly, trying to hold her still, a string of Mando’a oaths pouring from his mouth as she grabbed his arms, pulling them away from her and pressing them rebelliously onto the arms of the chair, holding them there tightly—staring into his eyes—a challenge, knowing he didn’t have the will to fight her, as her body continued to move against him, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his own, her body rolling on top of his.

“Cyar’ika,” he breathed, his eyes wide, partially begging her to stop so this could last longer, and partly begging for her to move harder, faster, deeper.

“Day'duumir, Ner’Verd,” she pleaded through her panting breaths, “gedet’ye.”

A low, deep sound began in the core of his body, rumbling as it moved through him, his being bent inwards to hers as the first wave washed over him, his arms dragging her to him, wrapping around her sharply, his face buried against her chest, his forearms holding her hips down against him as his own bucked beneath her, his mouth open, biting gently against her sensitive skin, savoring the way her breath shuddered, her chest vibrating under his head.

Her arms were wrapped around his head, holding him close to her, as his motions slowed, his breath caressing her as she ran her hands around his sweat drenched hair, pulling gently on the ends of it, as her fingers scratched against his skin. He hummed softly, his body quivering against her as an aftershock drifted through him. She rolled her hips, gently, diminutive, soothing him and giving him the time to recover. Her head dipping to the side to kiss his temple, pulling him up, his eyes still closed but knowing the path to her mouth on instinct, his lips finding hers, pressing softly, tongue moving slowly over her bottom lip, drawing her down into him, her mouth delicate velvet against his, reverent, tasting and touching with the sincerest tenderness, meant to express what words were lacking.

Their violent breathing was gradually abating, their bodies settling into a relaxed form, his hands drifting across her back, his fingers scratching lightly and then rubbing gently, as he gave her room to move back. She shifted slightly, not willing to give up the intimacy of their connection.

She stilled when Torian’s eyes widened, an inexplicable expression crossing his face, his voice bubbling up, surprise tainting the syllables, shouting, “Ke'pare!”

Raeyn’s face clouded with confusion, she tried to form words, but before she could utter a syllable she was lifted up off of him, a squeal of protest as she tried to stop him. He picked her up, her feet not touching the ground as he held her against him, his body turning sharply around, his back facing the door, his body like a brick wall in front of her, his hands holding her tightly up against his body. She tried to speak, but froze, her heart beating out of her chest when she heard a noise. She cautiously leaned to the right, around his broad arms—her eyes landing on Mako as she rounded the corner, her foot hitting the first step leading up to the bridge. Her eyes shifted up and caught Raeyn’s, her mouth forming into a perfect circle as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

When the scene finally registered, her eyes noticing the handprints on the window behind them, illuminated by the nebula, Torian’s pants in a puddle by the closest captain’s chair, and the two of them standing there naked as the day they were born—a frazzled noise between a scream, a groan, and a growl came out of her.

“Son of a Hutt!” she barked, her hand flying up to cover her eyes, wobbling on the step, “Guys! What the hell even!?”

Raeyn couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out of her at the sight of Mako wobbling on the step, her eyes covered, and an ongoing stream of commentary pouring out of her. She lifted her eyes to look at Torian—his face reflecting her own unapologetic amusement, all of the lines soft and tempered with mirth as he grunted a laugh, his eyes looking around the room trying to come up with an exit strategy.

“Damn it!” Mako screeched, “there isn’t enough chemical disinfectant in this entire sector to wash down that bridge—Torian, your naked butt TOUCHED that chair! That’s _my_ chair! Blast it all to hell!”

She continued to rant, her eyes still covered, “I’m ordering a replacement chair, and I am NOT paying for it!”

She screamed a wild sort of frustrated noise and then jumped when she felt Gault passing by her on his way to the galley for a midnight snack.

“What the hell is all of this noise about, do you people even realize what ti—“ he had shuffled past the doorway, half asleep, confusion slowing him down, he backed up, leaning around Mako, his mouth dropping open, then snapping closed, his eyes apprising the situation and coming to much the same conclusion as Mako.

“Kriffing hell!” he called out, Torian’s body stiffening around Raeyn’s, “you could have at least turned the _other way_ , Cadera, no one wants to see your bright white ass!”

He scratched his bare chest, his robe open, hanging loosely on his shoulders, “no matter how _toned_ it is,” his eyebrows raising as Mako turned sharply, lifting her hand to look at him disapprovingly.

“What!?” Gault squealed, “a man can appreciate the form of another man!” He wobbled a little as he turned to continue on to the galley, “what a damn shame…” he muttered as he went.

“What the kriff are you wearing, Gault?” Mako called after him, taking in the robe and shorts, the shorts too tight and the robe too short, still covering her eyes to avoid any accidental glimpses, “Seriously?”

Gault stopped, turned sideways to glare at her, his hands waving up and down his frame, “it’s a type of silk, why?”

“Nothing,” she snickered, “I just never saw you as a _flower_ man is all.”

“Har, har, har,” he rolled his eyes, “this was a _gift_ , from a _woman,_ if you must know.”

“Sure, sure,” Make laughed, waving her hand at him in a dismissal, turning back to the bridge, talking in a very flat, non-Mako tone, “I’m going back downstairs. I am going to wait exactly ten minutes. When I come back up here, I want to be _alone_.”

Her voice raised into a high pitch fervor, “Do you hear me? ALONE!” They could hear her foot fall as she stomped the floor.

Raeyn couldn’t stay the giggle that bubbled up out of her throat, laying her head on Torian’s chest as she laughed.

Torian cleared his throat, answering quickly, “Yes, Ma’am.”

He leaned down to kiss Raeyn sweetly, shared laughter between them as Mako’s voice drew further and further away, still ranting, “you two will be lucky if I don’t just set the entire bridge on fire. I am not cleaning that, nope, I am bringing towels up from the fresher…kriffing newlyweds…”

Raeyn lifted her head still grinning as she looked up at Torian, both of their eyes twinkling with mischief.

Once they heard the door slam downstairs, Raeyn leaned up, kissing him quickly, “I think we should obey her orders.”

Torian nodded, squeezing her once before releasing her, stepping over to the side to pick up his pants, then walking toward the discarded shirt to retrieve it.

Raeyn had walked to the door, clearing her throat, Torian’s head snapping up, his eyes caressing her from across the room, drinking her in—perfection.

“Briikase gote'tuur, Riduur!” she smiled, winking and then turning quickly to leave.

“What!? How…how did you even…” he was dumbfounded.

She twisted to look back over her shoulder at him, wiggling her backside in the process, “Brother. SIS. Easy!”

He nodded, laughing lightly, “of course.”

“You’ll have to wait until Gault is out of the galley for the rest of your present,” her eyes glinting in the light, her eyebrows raised, his expression quizzical, her voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper, “it involves sweet cream….and you, of course.”

She winked, turning to head to their room. Torian watched her walk, the sway of her hips mesmerizing, his heart full and his mind alight with anticipation, he didn’t know who he could praise for giving him her to be his wife, but he whispered his praises up to the Manda—grabbing the shirt off the floor and following after her.

_She was worth all of the years of waiting._

* * *

 

The next morning when Raeyn stepped up into the bridge to get a status report from Mako her eyes were drawn to a jar that was sitting in her chair. She walked over, nursing her cup of kopi tea, yawning shamelessly, bowing her back in a stretch as she glanced over at Mako who was sitting studiously staring at one of the monitors, completely ignoring her.

She took a drink of her tea, sitting her cup down on the console, picking up the jar, a tinkling noise coming from inside of it. She twisted it to see a handwritten note affixed to the jar, in Mako’s writing.

“Bridge Door Fund”

Tea spit out of her mouth as she nearly choked from trying to laugh and swallow at the same time, turning to Mako, who was now turned to observe her.

“Don’t get too worked up over it, it’s a lost cause.”

Raeyn was trying to compose herself, her eyes begging for Mako to explain.

“Gault keeps coming in and taking all of the money.”

_I love my crew._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...hope you all enjoyed this little break from the anguish that is this story so far haha MUCH LOVE to you all for every single kudo, comment (I LOVE THEM!), and +1 read! <3
> 
> * * *
> 
> Translations as they appear in the chapter:
> 
> N’eparavu takisit [Nay-PAH-rav-OO ta-KEE-sit] sorry (lit: I eat my insult)
> 
> Naasad jehaat lar [NAHS-ahd jeh-HAHT OH-lar] none, not any, lie here
> 
> ori'haat [OH-ree-haht] *It's the truth, I swear* Emphatic
> 
> Me'vaar ti gar? [Meh-VAR tee-GAR] Are you okay? (Lit: what's new with you?)
> 
> Ori di'kutla [OH-ree dee-KOOT-lah] extremely worthless
> 
> Ni haa'taylir [Nee har-TIE-leer] I see
> 
> Tion'jor? [Tee-ON-jor] why?
> 
> Meh ni'copaanir [Mey KOH-pan-EER] If you want/would like me to
> 
> Gar’akur kar'am, Cyare. [Gahr-CHAH-koor KAR-aam] You're breath taking, beloved. Literally stolen breath.
> 
> Cyare [SHAH-ray] beloved
> 
> Gar mesh'la. Ni'copad duumir cetar taap'runi [gahr MAYSH'lah. nee'KOH-pad DOOM-eer set-ARR tahp'roo-NEE]
> 
> You are beautiful. I desire to worship at your alter. (literally, I desire to be allowed to kneel at your soul's location.)
> 
> Gedet'ye [Geh-DET-yay] Please
> 
> Mando’ade [Mando-AH-day] Mandalorians
> 
> Gar serim, ner Mando'ade Riduur. Duumir cuun'runi mureyca. [Gar sair-EEM, nair Man-DOH-AH-day REE-door. DOOM-eer koon'roo-NEE MOOR-aysh-ah] *That's it,* my Mando husband. Allow our souls to kiss.
> 
> Ratiin [RAH-teen] always
> 
> Ni ganar'ni, Mesh'la, runi abiik'shaadlar [nee GAN-ar'gar, MAYSH'lah, roo-NEE Ah-beek_SHAHD-lar] I have you, Beautiful, let your soul fly.
> 
> “Kar'taylir darasuum, Ner’Verd, darasuum.
> 
> [kat-tay-LEER da-RAH-soom]
> 
> Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Ner'verd, darasuum. [nee kar-TILE garh dah-RAH-soom, nair vaird, day-RAH-soom] - colloquial: I love you, my warrior (pet name), forever. lit: I know you forever. 
> 
> Cyar’ika [shar-EE-kah] darling, sweetheart
> 
> Day'duumir, Ner’Verd [dai-DOOM-eer nair vaird] – release, let go, my warrior (pet name)
> 
> Gedet'ye [Geh-DET-yay] Please
> 
> Ke'pare! [keh PAH-ray] emphatic, ke is an imperative prefix which makes the following word an order, pare is stop or wait--this phrase would equal an order to wait.
> 
> Briikase gote'tuur, Ner’Verd [Bree-KAH-say go-te-TOOR] Happy birthday! Ner'verd [nair vaird] my warrior
> 
> Manda [MAHN-dah] the collective soul or heaven - the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit - also supreme, overarching, guardian-like


	6. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new character's name, Brii, is pronounced "Bree" =o) 
> 
> OH AND MAJOR shout outs to any Psych fans who read!! <3
> 
> Please note: if you would like to read the lyrics to the entire lullaby presented in the story you can find it on my Tumblr here:
> 
> http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/post/149110335711/so-this-is-the-mandalorian-lullaby-i-used-in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our new language appears here again--one that is completely unique and is not known commonly. I can't really speak of it without major spoilers.
> 
> You can hold your cursor over any of the Mando'a/Non-Basic words in the story and the pronunciation and explanation will pop up for you! I haven't tested this on mobile yet, but it works on the computer!
> 
> I've put a * by the words that are not-Mando'a.
> 
> In case that doesn't work: Chapter 6 Translations: For those who don't like to wait til the end to know what the non-english words mean (like me!) This works especially well if you open it in another window so you can just click back and forth to see the translations as you hit the words. (Right click and say "open in new tab")
> 
> WARNING: Contains spoilers of course!
> 
> Translations: http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/post/149109234776/the-pages-between-chapter-6-breathe
> 
> Chapter Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCmzlzRgPUhH8bdGM5KeRhzV-mwtNbh2D

 

Hour 95  
  
She was standing at the base of the hill she had ascended from, there were whisperings faint in her ear—some kind of strange sensation of others in this place—but try as she might she was unable to actually feel their presence. Everywhere she looked there was desolation, smoke rising and filling the sky, fires burning faintly in the distance.  

Valkorian was telling her about love, asking her pointed questions about her crew, about Torian.

“That’s none of your business,” she snapped, turning her back to him as she surveyed the land around her. She was positive he knew nothing about love, this monster who ate planets filled with light for his own gain.

“Torian won’t wait for you forever,” he responded, his tone matter of fact.

She turned on him then, hissing, “Don’t you dare even speak his name!” She crossed the few steps to where his apparition stood, her finger pointing at him, while he was looking at her as if completely bored, “You know nothing about him—don’t you dare even utter his name—you are unworthy!”  
  
She knew she was being baited, and was furious with herself for being so weak—but there was so much going on in this world and running through her head. She was so confused, and so _angry_. This was all Valkorian’s fault but he acted like he was the positive part of the experience.

Valkorian opened his mouth as if to speak, but Raeyn interrupted him, “No. We’re done talking.”

She turned swiftly, stomping down the embankment to the next plateau. She wanted to rail at him, tell him the truth. She knew love. She could measure it. She knew love that was deep, and pure, and real, and forever. Hearing his name in this atmosphere made it feel like her heart was being ripped out of her chest—she drew her hand up as if to hold it in place.

 _My beloved._  
  
Her entire body felt twisted, the missing pieces inside of her heart feeling like needles in her skin. She stopped, folding her hands together, trying to center herself—to remember what she is working toward, what she was doing here, what she had to live for. Her mind wandered back in time for a moment, her eyes drifting closed as she savored a fleeting memory.

 

* * *

 

Raeyn had started unpacking her supplies, preparing to make a place to sleep in the room where they had made their camp. A perfect building with only one door, high walls—with a roof that had been ripped off by what appeared to be some kind of blast—still, she was happy that the sky was clear and bright above them. They’d actually built a fire to stave off the cold air that was edging closer as the night fell to darkness. They’d strategically placed the fire in the far corner of the room—away from the door—to ensure they weren’t spotted on the landscape by both wandering creatures, as well as patrolling soldiers who were known to hit this area on their route.

She had not imagined that Torian would be here on Taris, especially not looking for his father. She had been concerned, when she first realized she was going to have to admit her mark to him, that he might not be supportive. He had explained why he was hunting his father, and once she’d dug around to access the information about Mandalorians she had tucked away, she had a much better understanding of what he was doing and why. Given what she understood now, he couldn’t have been anywhere else but on Taris—though she wasn’t sure she understood the timing. It was good fortune they had ended up here at the same time.

She had felt him, the moment she landed on the planet, she sensed him. It was different than on Dromund Kaas—where she had to find a quiet place inside the cave away from prying eyes to calm herself down so she would be able to fight the monster she was sent there to destroy by Mand’alor. She had sensed her prey too, within seconds planetside she could feel the evil flowing from it, permeating the atmosphere.

Mako had stood watch while she centered herself, drawing on her strength to be able to focus on the job at hand. Her responses were exaggerated too because of the confrontation with Jogo—who frankly needed someone to teach him some manners to put a stop to his overinflated ego and raging superiority complex.

_If he only knew what I could do to him._

It was good her parents had taught her so many lessons on self-control—otherwise, that moment might have ended differently—and despite him putting Jogo in his place—Torian might not have actually approved if she had killed a clan member. Apart from the chaos that the negative conversation had on her—the time spent with Torian there was just as charged and volatile as the time when she was named Grand Champion.

The edges to the feelings were softer--still just as powerful, still just as potent—but it lacked the jagged parts it had there—she supposed it was because she’d had a few weeks to temper her response to it. To learn to handle it better, less emotionally. It wasn’t easy, by any stretch of the imagination. It was one of the hardest things she had ever done—and she had known hard things.

That said, for the two days that she and Gault had spent evading Republic forces, and some of the most disgusting local creatures, while chasing cold and dead end trails Jicoln had left—she was admittedly distracted at some level by the anticipation of seeing Torian, of being in the same room as him again. She had about given up, thinking perhaps he _had_ been there and what she was feeling was just a residual response to his presence—when Torian had approached her from behind, gun drawn, issuing some comment about thinking she’d “be harder to get the drop on”.

It didn’t take much effort to rattle his cage, a small flirt, delivered in the right tone, “I was just eager to see you again after Dromond Kaas.”

He hesitated, shaken—that was all it took—she went in for the kill and he was on the ground before he could take another breath, gun pointed at him, her smirk saying more than words about how he had certainly underestimated her. She was able to control her body’s response to the first time she touched his skin, glad that her brother had warned her about it. Her hand had felt like it was on fire, and then it was tingling—alight with sensations from the small touch when she grabbed his hand to disarm and flip him. Her brother had mentored her several times—teaching her and reminding her that she’d spent her entire life preparing for this.

Once they had recovered from the initial contact, having a good laugh at each other, they had agreed to join forces—spending the afternoon with the three of them following trails, killing rakghouls, and generally having a lot of fun. Well, at least her and Torian were having quite a lot of fun. Gault wasn’t so moved by the whole scene, his complaints being lodged often, and loudly.

That said, she had spent the entire day quite happily observing Torian. Studying his movements, his patterns, how he breathed, how he tilted his head. She was a predator in the deepest part of her, trained from birth to analyze her enemy and use those weaknesses against them. She had to stop herself from laughing when she realized early on that he was doing the exact same thing to her. An odd game they had begun to be sure.

She had noticed a lot about him—one of the most telling was the fact that he was very articulate. He spoke very plainly, and she struggled to not dive into his mind to find out what he was really thinking. She knew it was wrong so she didn’t, but it didn’t change the fact that she wanted to. She reminded herself she actually cared about this being traditional, like the way other couples found love with one another, so she was determined to do this as naturally as possible.

By the time they started setting up their camp when the sun was beginning to fade, she had spent enough time watching Torian that she found herself more and more intrigued by him. Every time she thought she had something figured out, he’d say or do something that proved her wrong. He was an amazing hunter, able to follow the paths and trails with ease—better than her even with her superior senses—and he never missed a mark so far as she could tell. He was a fierce warrior—and she had admired his form all afternoon.

_Admired his form. Really? I might have spent an extraordinary amount of time admiring his assets._

_Assets._

She snickered softly, a fevered blush settling in her cheeks, quickly lifting up her blanket to shake it out, hiding her face in case Gault or Torian might have noticed.

_It’s not my fault._

She couldn’t help but admire him, he was strong, and tall, and handsome, and his face, and his cute cheeks with those symbols on them, his bright blue eyes, and his hair that looks so soft, and his arms were so strong, and his legs were so solid, every inch of him was like a work of art that belonged in a sacred place—and she just…really, she had to work very hard to not let him be a distraction.

_It’s actually a miracle I was able to kill anything at all._

She knew they couldn’t afford to let their guard down, not when his Father was one of the most wanted people in the Mandalorian universe. No, he was skilled, would put up a real fight—and it was this alone that made her focus and get her head in the game. She said she would see to it that Torian regained his honor and she meant to see it through. She’d make sure she handled things better tomorrow.

Of course, once Gault had noticed her…attention was diverted, he began commenting—little jabs that he thought were subtle but were actually as subtle as a flagship landing on your speeder would be—which basically led to her wanting to murder him. Which had the added benefit that she couldn’t think about Torian while she was angry at Gault, in effect causing her to focus more on the hunt.

_Maybe I’ll actually thank him later._

Gault helped them set up their camp for the night in a safe area, and then he immediately dismissed himself.

“Looks like you two kids don’t need me here anymore,” his hand slapped the side of his neck, grimacing, “I will be retiring back to the ship, where there is climate control and a distinct lack of _bugs_.”

Raeyn had walked to where he was standing, nodding thoughtfully. She was opening her mouth to tell him to be safe getting back to their ship when he spoke, his voice loud, musing, “Yep! You two need some _alone_ time. It’s clear you _like_ him, and with the way he watched you, I’m guessing he likes you too. If I tried that stunt back there with you and the gun—we both know I'd be wearing my face on the back wall.”

_He’s not wrong. On either account. Wait! Torian was watching me?_

She glared at Gault, thankful she was standing a few feet in front of Torian so he couldn’t see her face, flaming red, “Put a sock in it Gault, comm me when you get back to the ship so I won’t worry about your sorry ass getting lost or killed out here by yourself.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” he smiled then, she braced herself—knowing him well enough to know when he smiled, especially one as devious as this one, it was usually because something grossly inappropriate was about to come out of his mouth.

His eyes narrowed slightly as she mouthed the words silently—his eyebrow raising as he took her meaning—“ _I will cut you.”_

_Don’t do it, Gault, please, don’t do it!_

“You two don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Actually, scratch that— _please_ , do. The Boss has been _very tense_ since Dromund Kaas,” At this his eyes shifted from hers to a point over her shoulder, no doubt looking at Torian, who was completely silent, “She could use a little attention from a strapping young man like you, haven’t seen her with anyone since I joined her crew.” He drew his eyes back to her, winking quickly, laughing as her face turned a darker shade of red. He leaned forward, next to her cheek as he whispered in her ear, “You can thank me later.”

She was holding her breath as he walked away, her mind filtering through all of the ways she could recover this situation, and drawing a blank short of the ground opening up and swallowing her whole. She was going to kill Gault, through one of the myriad ways that her mind could conceive, in a slow, painful, horrific way. She shivered, looking up at the sky which was gradually fading to darkness.

She tensed as she heard Torian moving behind her, clearing his throat before he spoke, “Fire’s warm.”

She hesitantly turned around, finding him sitting on the ground by the fire, his back against the wall, facing the doorway, legs bent, his hands resting on them. His eyes gestured to the ground beside him.

_He’s casual. He’s casual. Calm down…_

She took a deep breath, grabbing her blanket from her pack, walking to where he was, settling down beside him, a decent space between them, because seriously— _I hate Gault_.

The warmth from the fire was soothing—having removed her gloves and shields from her arms—hoping she could get at least a little sleep—the skin lacking the extra layer of protection felt the elements. She stretched her blanket out over her, pulling her legs up against her, trying to use her body to create more heat. She studied the fire, the way it danced and she could feel the tiny bits popping and bubbling in excitement. The air around it welcomed it, ushering it’s waves out through the room.

_So beautiful._

“So…Gault?” Torian’s voice made her jump.

She tried to settle herself down, taking a deep breath, this is a very innocent question, with a very innocent answer, “Gault is an idiot. I’m sorry he…just…what he said was inappropriate.”

He grunted, something she took as his understanding before he spoke again, “Was it true?”

Her mind whirled trying to come up with a way to explain something more than a little complex, the question edging too close to her internal chaos, “Which part?” Stalling.

“All of it?”

She took a deep breath. _All of it_. _Just answer the safe questions, that’s all_ —“I would have killed Gault. Yes. And no, I haven’t seen anyone since Gault joined the crew.”

He was silent at that, she was too nervous to look at him, so she wasn’t sure what his expression was—she wished she could read him though, but she hadn’t learned his tone yet, and there was no way she was going to attempt looking at him.

It was quiet for a few minutes, the fire crackling softly, the sound of leaves hitting the walls outside.

“No relationship?” His voice held a note that she hadn’t really heard before, was that a hopeful undertone?

She shrugged, knowing there was no way she could explain this and not look crazy, “I don’t want any casual relationships. I am not interested in them. I’ve been waiting for…” she paused awkwardly then wanting to scream ‘you’, followed immediately by her pouncing on him—she shook her head, trying to dismiss the vision—gathering herself, finishing the thought, “…the right person.”

He grunted again, immediately, clearly an agreement, firm approval, “Same.”

_Same. So much in a single word._

She heard him take a breath, loud in her ear as her heart was thrumming, her senses going hyper alert, “The other?”

Somehow hoping he had discarded the other bit of dialogue she closed her eyes, wishing herself away, “What other?”

_Maybe he really wasn’t paying attention._

“The part about…liking,” he whispered softly, so softly if she hadn’t been trying to hear him, she might not have heard it at all.

She swallowed, her throat dry, opening her mouth to speak, but just drawing a blank—this was more complicated than she had imagined, no one told her it was going to be like this—the uncertainty, the fear of messing things up. Somehow finding a way to balance what _could be_ with what is. Knowing things but not able to act on them, understanding the delicate facets but being unable to respond to that understanding. She settled for being straight forward, since force knows there were a lot of revelations moving forward that would require her complete honesty.

“Yes, that was true, too.”

He drew a sharp breath in then, and she lectured herself to keep from turning to see his expression—she could see him twisting his hands out of her peripheral vision—his forearms resting on his knees, “Good to know.”

She tried to ease the tension out of her shoulders, wishing she could calm down. Was that a positive response?

_Good to know. Why is there no manual for this? …surely ‘good to know’ is a positive response?_

It seemed like a positive response. She knew it was a bad time to even start talking about anything serious—to try to explain things to him, they were there to hunt his _father_ for the love of all things Empire. Without any warning, a long, heavy yawn caught her off guard, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as she made a noise trying to stifle it. Torian turned his face to look at her.

“Tired?”

She shrugged, she _was_ tired, but there was little doubt in her mind that he was also tired, and there was no way she could sleep here—too many wild things ready to eat them in their sleep for her to be comfortable. She turned to look at him, his eyes still fixed on her.

“Sleep,” his tone would be easy to mistake for lack of care, but she could see in his eyes that it was far from that. She considered protesting, he was tired too—she could see it on his face—but before she could say anything he spoke again, “I’ve got first watch.”

Something crossed his face then, something she couldn’t define, and when it did, he turned from her, looking back at the fire. She stared at him for a moment, sure he was going to ask her what was wrong with her any moment—but he slowly turned to look at her, she saw the muscle in his jaw twitch where he had his teeth clenched, tilting his head slightly as he spoke, his voice softened, “You are tired. Sleep here by the fire.”

His hand swept the ground beside him, his eyes drifting back to the door, “I’ll keep you safe.”

When she didn’t move, he huffed out a tiny breath, his voice seemed a little sad to her, “Know you don’t need protecting—will be watching just the same.”

He turned to look at her, his eyes seeming apologetic, “Gedet’ye, sleep now.”

She nodded her head, feeling like there was something in this conversation she needed to correct, but not sure how to figure out what part it was. His expression drifted into a small grin before he turned back to watch the doorway.

She knew that they would both need to get some rest, and she _was_ exhausted—she’d sleep a bit and then relieve him so that he could get some sleep too.

Decided, she used her foot to loop around the strap of her pack, dragging it to her, pulling out her other blanket. She rolled it into a ball, then moved around to position herself close to the fire. Her feet toward the door, her head in position to be able to see the room…just part of her way of doing things, her back to the wall behind her…never leave yourself facing away from a potential enemy. She shifted, adjusting pieces of armor, getting her head settled and the blanket over her. Her eyes drawn back to the fire, the lovely dancing flames smiling.

For a few minutes she continued to move, wiggling this way and that, trying to find some comfort on the cold, hard ground, but there seemed to be none to be found. If it were not giving up the progress they’d made today she would have suggested going back to the ship with Gault—but there just was no way she could justify that—clearly, they were making real progress and any amount of that would be lost if they left the forest that night. She was going to see him through this. She had promised.

“Here,” Torian’s voice held a question in it, causing her to look up at him from where she was laying—trying to apprise what he was saying until she realized he had moved his blanket into a ball on his lap, his hands gesturing for her to come lay there. She debated, and then decided it was time to just do what felt right, to hell with all of the constant doubts that were plaguing her. If it was a mistake she’d be sorry tomorrow.

She shuffled over to him, momentarily stilling, eyes closing as she broke through his aura. She felt so much uncertainty there—so much pain, struggle, suffering—and then there was a sense of wonder, a feeling of happiness—so odd to have such conflicting emotions at the same time. Once the initial shock of him had passed she resumed her crawl, calming herself by focusing on the happiness, her armor making grating sounds as she moved, dragging her blanket with her. She caught his eyes in the light of the fire, they were fixed on her, his expression unreadable. She suddenly felt very cowardly and wanted to run out of the room, off the planet, out of the galaxy.

“You sure?” She couldn’t decide what she was more afraid of—him saying yes, or him saying no.

He nodded, his eyes steady on hers, “I am.”

He shook the blanket softly urging her to lay down. She shoved her blanket under her shoulder to prop herself up off the ground a bit—carefully laying her head down in his lap. Her heart was wild with so many feelings she couldn’t express and she tucked her hands between her face and the blanket to keep them from shaking.

She’d never been this close to anyone besides her family before—well, she considered some of the men she had toyed with to get information—she’d sometimes stood close to them, or even once sat in an intelligence officer’s lap to get information from him—but when it came down to it, she had very rarely been touched, or touched others—it was overwhelming and something she avoided. The truth was she had only done those things when nothing else worked—and even then it usually ended up with the guy passed out from the herbs she put in his drink so she could make her escape without questions. She really had no shame about it—she wasn’t going to give her body over for some information, and she could tell them a good story and they would believe it.

Even if she had a lifetime of touches, she realized it wouldn’t have prepared her for this—no one else would have ever been _him_. She could hear the blood thrumming through her veins, her heart slamming in her chest—she had no idea how she was going to be able to fall asleep now.

She heard Torian smile through his words, “I won’t take advantage, by my honor. No matter what Gault implied.”

She smiled then, amusement in her tone, “Don’t ever listen to Gault.” A small yawn escaped her, her eyes closing to the feeling of it.

“Noted,” his tone matter of fact, then more emphatic, “Sleep now.”

She nodded. She wanted to sleep, she had every intention to do so, but her mind wouldn’t stop the circles it was spinning in. She tried to block out all of the sensations, his aura, the way the air around them was static with all of the emotions she was producing. She focused on the sounds of the fire, calming now, sweetly trying to share their soft waves with her.

She had to force herself to be still, wanting to sit up to see Torian’s face when he began to sing softly in Mando’a. The first few words clearly indicating that it was a lullaby.

_Nuhoy cyar ner verd’ika ner,_

_Mand’alor’s kotep taylir keldab…_

She didn’t know much Mando’a and kicked herself for not taking the time to learn it, making a mental note to get Eldae’na to send her whatever texts she had on the language so she could learn it. The few words she made out seemed like it was singing to a child, referred to as a ‘little soldier”.  Torian continued to sing the lilting song, softly, almost like a whisper on the wind, she recognized only a few other words. The soft cadence of the song mollified her overactive mind, her eyes slowly drifting shut, caught in the melody. Turning her body inward, snuggling closer into Torian’s body—which was surprisingly comfortable given the nature of his armor—losing her worries in the sound of his voice, feeling contented. His aura embraced her, he was content.

_Warm fuzzies. Torian warm fuzzies._

She smiled a lazy, tired smile.

Time was a slow friend, and it seemed to her that a long time passed before she felt the hands of sleep coming for her. She knew that he had repeated the song a few times, and truth be told, she didn’t want to fall asleep—she wanted to hear him sing more. His voice was beautiful, still masculine and strong, but there were notes in it that spoke of deeper places in him. She wanted to discover them all.

She could see the small window where time and space bend to yield itself to the world of dreams—drifting slowly toward it. She was just there at the precipice—where she would fall into it, when she felt something touch her hair.

She froze, her breath caught in her chest. His voice still singing.

_Breathe._

Torian’s hand moved once through her hair, slowly, as if memorizing, her scalp tingling where his fingers stroked, sending trills of electric throughout her body, he paused the song, the new words he spoke so small in the great big world, spoken so softly they were nearly lost by the wind, “Like you, too.”

Her eyes popped open, staring at the fire, it’s energy changed from her own, flaring up for a moment, before she controlled her emotions, the warmth brushing her face, she smiled, knowing he couldn’t see her face. He picked up the song where he left off, his hand resting on the side of her head, just laying still, touching her with the most innocent touch—clearly believing she was asleep.

Eventually, she did fall to sleep, his soft voice melodic with the sounds carrying her to slumber, such sweet sleep.

Her dream imitated life—hearing words between the lines of the song, his hand carefully pulling her hair back from her face, “Sleep sweet, my little soldier,” his hand stroked her cheek softly, her dreams were exquisite she decided, humming under the attention, “Nuhoy, cyar ner verd’ika.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Andronikos had been sitting in the same chair for nine hours. They were on day five of their mission to heal Torian, and he was beginning to wonder if they were going to be successful. He didn’t normally question his Sith—but he couldn’t see a change in him at all so far. He’d studied his wife while she was busy glowing and healing and whatever other _things_ she was doing across the room. Mand’alor was kind enough to send food with Andare for them, though his Sith didn’t stop for food, and he knew she’d pay for that later. He had eaten both portions—mostly out of boredom. He’d taken a long nap earlier in the afternoon, and had watched through the dirty window the sun setting outside, the camp alive with activity.

He heard a loud commotion in the hallway, jumping to his feet, the chair tipping backward and crashing to the floor as he crossed the room in three steps, his blaster drawn and lined up with a shot to anyone who walked through that door.

His finger tempered the trigger as the sound got closer to the doorway, when he heard a voice from the chaos, his finger relaxing.

“Brii, darlin’, don’t think this is the right way to handle this,” the voice was pleading, while he could just make out Mand’alor protesting, trying to speak over the noises.

“Corso! If you don’t let go of my arm right this second I am going to shoot your fingers off!”

A flurry of energy wrapped up in a young woman entered the room, walking directly into the line of Andronikos’ blaster. The girl jumped when she saw him standing there, then huffed, crossing her arms, anger marring her features.

“Damn it, Brii!” Andronikos raised his voice, his face red with fury, “Are you insane? I could have killed you!”

The woman rolled her eyes, her entire countenance one of dismissal, when Corso walked into the room, shuffling his feet, looking down at the floor, “Sorry, sir—I told her this was a bad idea.”

“I know better than to blame you, son,” he looked pointedly at Brii, “your wife has zero self-control. Gets it from her Mother.”

Corso looked up, nodding, “Yes, sir, she does.”

Brii’s foot came down, her boot making a loud noise as it landed, “I want to know who the hell decided it would be a good idea to keep this from me!?”

Andronikos put his blaster back in his holster, his eyes meeting Mand’alor’s who was standing in the doorway staring at the scene—her eyes asking if he had the situation handled. He nodded his head, thanking her, and she huffed, leaving the room.

“I’m not talking to you while you are this worked up,” Andronikos muttered, “you need to calm down—before you do something stupid.”

“Stupid is keeping this from me!” She stomped her foot again, the walls seemed to rattle a little bit, and Andronikos raised his eyes to the ceiling worriedly.

He looked at Corso then, his tone exasperated, “How long has she been like this?”

“Sir, it took us four days on hyperdrive to get here, she’s had a good plenty long time to work herself up into this here frenzy.”

Andronikos nodded, glancing behind him to check on his Sith who was still glowing and appearing for all the world to not have even noticed what was happening in the room. He knew better, of course, but he was glad she wasn’t involving herself at this point.

He stepped forward, grabbing Brii, pulling her into him, her tiny body nearly disappearing in his arms. She pushed against him for a moment, a loud squeal filling the room before she suddenly burst into tears. Andronikos lifted his hand to hold her head to him, stroking her hair softly, “Shhh, now, everything is fine. Maer'naeh is healing him. We got here in plenty of time. We've been here four days, accessing the situation, that’s all.”

While she had been shuddering from the power of her tears, she was sniffling now, her voice watery as she spoke, “Maer'naih—you wouldn’t lie to me about this would you?”

Andronikos stepped back a small bit, enough to reach to her face with both hands, forcing her to look him in the eyes, her bright blue eyes boring into his, searching for the truth, “I have never lied to you. I never will.” She stared at him, and then he could feel the tingling sensation of her looking into his mind. He allowed her, knowing it was probably the only way she was going to calm down.

She nodded, her hands grabbing onto his wrists, his hands still holding her face, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“S’right,” he whispered, “I understand.” She leaned her head forward onto his chest for a moment, her stiff body relaxing into him.

“You should have told me.”

Andronikos shrugged, speaking unapologetically, “I did what your Maer’naeh told me to do. She’s the one who knew what had to be done—I was just the pilot of this crazy ship.”

She looked up at him smiling a tiny smile, her hand reaching back to grab Corso’s hand without even looking, his hand already in motion to reach for hers. She squeezed it hard, holding it fast.

“Wait, though, how exactly did you know where we were and what was happening?” Andronikos asked, his expression confused.

“Force bless a gundark—when are you two going to realize you can’t hide things from all of us?” She threw her hand up in the air, then pointed at him, “you need to accept that we will _always_ find out.”

“I’m having a talk with Nikolaes, _soon_.” His voice was firm, his eyes narrowed.

“You two taught him everything he knows; you can’t be mad that he’s better than you!” She laughed at him when he nodded, “…‘sides we could have done it without him.”

“Could you now?” Andronikos raised his brows, waiting for her to explain.

“We put a tracker on your ship, like eons ago,” she shrugged, “We always know where you are.”

His eyes widened, “You did what? That’s not…it’s not possible, we have a million security features to stop anyone from pu…”

“Cool your jets,” she laughed then, “I’m just joshin’ ya.”

His eyebrows drew down, his frown deepening, “Is that right?”

She twisted her body in a little dance and then threw her hands up in the air, “Of course!”

Andronikos stared at her, “You know, you’re the worst liar ever to be such a successful smuggler.”

“I take exception to that remark—you wouldn’t know I was lying if you weren’t using your patriarch jujumagumbo on me.”

She took a deep breath then, stepping backward into Corso’s arms as if to gather strength from them, “You can take all the time you need to work your mind around all of your progeny outsmartin’ you later—right now though, I need to see him.”

Andronikos nodded, his expression uncertain, knowing that it was going to be hard for her to see him like this—and he’d do just about anything to keep her from suffering—she’d already suffered enough. He stepped to the side, gesturing for her to go around the machines that were blocking her from Torian.

She pulled Corso along with her as she walked further into the room—her heart wild with fear—until she turned around the large wall of machines and saw her Maer’naeh on the top of the bed, the soft glow from her filling the room and making her squint to try to see him.

She walked further into the room, Corso’s grip on her hand tightening as she walked to the side of the bed, her eyes adjusting to the light and finally being able to see him.

The first thing she noticed was that he was alive. That was good. Then she studied him and the more she looked the harder her heart became—seeing the extent of his injuries, looking at the inner parts of him that were so broken.

“Who did this?” her voice was seething, her eyes moving away from Torian to meet Andronikos’.

“The Eternal Empire.”

She wanted to scream, her rage was a living thing in the room—the walls were rattling from the force of it. Corso came up behind her, whispering softly in her ear, his arms reaching around her, holding her arms down, pulling her back into his embrace where at first she stiffened, looking like a caged animal ready to break free—but then slowly, as if by his sheer willpower alone, she melted into him, her eyes closing, her hands coming up in front of her, trying to get control of herself.

She breathed in deeply a few times, Corso felt the change in her, loosening his grip on her as she twisted in his arms, kissing him softly on the cheek in appreciation. He smiled at her, his face serious despite the happy expression, “We’ll make them pay.”

She nodded her head sharply, intent on making that promise come true, turning to Andronikos, Corso moving his arms to wrap around her waist, his head resting softly on her shoulder.

“They will pay,” she was asking more than stating, “that’s the truth right?”

“No one can see all ends, Brii,” he spoke firmly, “you know that—but yes, it is almost certain they will pay for what they have done.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then shifted her eyes back to Torian, moving away from Corso to stand by the bed—he followed her, as if linked to her by a tether, his fingers touching the small of her back. She reached down, picking up Torian’s hand, holding it—wanting nothing more than to feel the strength that belonged there, gripping her hand back.

She glanced up at the Sith, whispering softly, “I’m sorry Maer. I was just…scared.”

The Sith raised her hand, her position otherwise completely unchanged, the light unwavering even as she moved, her hand flipping to the side as if to dismiss her concerns.

Brii closed her eyes, “Can he hear me?”

“Yes,” the Sith spoke softly, her powers unchanged.

“Ahdae'na,” her voice broke on the name, she cleared her throat before speaking again, squeezing his hand, her voice stronger, “I’ve come to help take care of you, Ahdae'na. Ni ceta dar'olar. Ni olaror jii.”

She looked up at Andronikos who nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“Ni kelir gaa'taylir gar, jahaala gar, Ni Kelir nu draar ba'slanar gar tug'yc akay gar cuyir ani,” her tone was sharp, as if she was angry, but her body began to shake softly, and she slowly dropped beside the bed on her knees, her head pressing into his side, her arm placed across his chest, pulling his hand to her face, kissing it gently, “Gedyet’ye, Dae’dae, please…”

Tears began to roll down her face as she felt so lost in the moment, “I need you.”

She tried to catch her breath, the emotions seeming to overwhelm her—her body trembling with unshed tears trying to break free. Corso whispered to Andronikos that this was the first time she’d cried, since Raeyn went missing, and Brii growled, wanting to kick him in the shin for saying it out loud.

“I need you, Ahdae— gedet'ye nu draar vaabir ba'slanar ni. I can’t lose you too—not after Eldae.” Her body shook softly as the weight of her words moved through her. She stood up quickly, “Ni ceta—I’m not helping, I’m hurting—I can feel his emotions—I’m disturbing him. I’m going go out…I need to calm down.” 

She reached back and took Corso’s hand turning to leave the room. She jumped when a hand came around her wrist, turning sharply, hoping to see her father’s blue eyes looking at her. She met her Maer’naeh’s pale eyes instead, her expression soft, her touch easing as she pulled her forward into her arms, holding her softly, Brii’s body melted into her, the emotions roiling off of her, as the Sith soothed her in every way.

“Shhh, sweet Brii—your parents named you Briikase because you smiled before you were born and your giggle was heard long before you opened your eyes—sweet child—your soul is not meant for tears. He is going to be healed—I promise you. Your Maer'naih wanted to tell you—I told him we would not, because I knew you couldn’t do this without being here. You are here now—now it all begins,” she let go of her, pulling back—holding her face in her hands, pulling her forward to kiss her forehead, “Se'teai,” the name filled the room with joy, and Brii couldn't stop the smile edging onto her face, “I have never lied to you.”

Brii nodded her head in her hands, “Thank you, ai te'aer.”

The Sith smiled, her face soft with the love emanating from her, speaking softly, “I love you too—so much!”  She looked up to Andronikos—without a word he immediately moved to the other side of the bed, his hand wrapping around her upper arm as she swayed.

“I’m done for the day,” she smiled weakly at him, “you arrived just in time.”

It was like Brii had not looked at her Maer yet, and when she did all she could feel was alarm. Her skin was drawn and so pale, the markings on her face standing out more than normal. She seemed too thin, something….off, sickly.

“What in the world have you been doing?” her voice came out in a screech, and Brii leaned forward catching her grandmother’s eyes, “Tryin’ to kill yourself? You’ve let her get to this point?”

She glared at Andronikos, her eyes widening when he reached over, his hands going around the Sith’s waist as he lifted her gently off the bed, careful of the wires and machines still hooked up to Torian. He set her carefully on the ground in front of him, his hands still on her waist, clearly supporting her as she swayed.

“Frakking hell!” Brii hissed—her eyes narrowing, “You ARE killing yourself!”

She stomped around the room in a flurry, boxing in her grandparents, reaching out both hands to grab her grandmother’s. The Sith’s eyes were wide and curious, when suddenly Brii started to glow brightly, forcing life through her hands into her Grandmother’s. She tried to pull her hands away, but Brii was absolute, refusing to let them go.

“Brii—language please…and you don’t…” she started to speak, but Brii shushed her, still sending white light through the connection of their hands.

She realized it was pointless to argue with this stubborn child—too much of her Mother _and_ Father in this one to be anything other than a brick wall when she’d set her mind to something. She waited until Brii severed the connection with her, huffing softly, “I was just getting him stabilized, that’s all. You had no need to do that, I would have taken time to recover…”

Brii made a loud buzzing sound, cutting her off, not letting her finish, “I’m sure you have—like a few hours instead of a few days—you are too far from the aim'te here in this gods forsaken ball of dirt! It’s taking too much out of you! I had a feeling this is what I would find when I got here—I’ve already sent messages to everyone. We’re taking him home, off of this rock.”

She had crossed her arms, her hip jutting forward, her entire being radiating with the fact she was prepared to put up a fuss over it. She dropped her arms, her face confused when the Sith nodded, “That would be best, you are the only one who can get him off planet safely and to the aim’te.”

Andronikos leaned down and around, kissing his Sith on the cheek, smiling as he whispered into her ear, “Just as you planned.”

“Frak!” Brii exclaimed loudly, “You could have just contacted me like _normal_ people do!”

“I didn’t know until I was here with him, by the time I understood I had already felt you moving closer—so there was no point.” The Sith stood still for a moment, before her head dropped, her eyes on the floor, “I wanted to fix this…I had to at least _try_ —it felt like something I _could_ do….”

They all knew she was referring to Raeyn and the fact she still couldn’t figure out where she was or how to rescue her.

“That’s not your fault,” Andronikos whispered, sincerity filling his words, “You’re the only one who thinks you should be able to do _everything.”_

“He’s not lying, Maer,” she leaned down to see her face, making the Sith look up at her, “none of us can find her. We’ve even went in groups to search thinking it would give us better attunement. This is something new. You could not do anything other than what you have done.”

The Sith nodded, her hands squeezing Brii’s, “Thank you, I suppose I needed to hear that.”

She turned then, her legs weak, her body starting to buckle when Andronikos lifted her up into her arms before she could fall.

“I’ve got you, crazy Sith,” he smiled over at Brii, moving past her toward the walkway to leave the room, “Taking her to bed—you two find your way around?”

“Sir, I will take good care of her,” Corso tipped his head, walking to stand next to Brii, “You have my word.”

“No doubt in my mind about that Corso,” he laughed, then more seriously, “I’ll hold you to it.”

He looked down at the Sith, who was already fast asleep in his arms, smiling at how precious she was, then nodded to the two kids as he walked out of the room heading to their ship for some rest. He’d see to it she wasn’t disturbed tonight, and then tomorrow maybe he’d make her some of that soup she liked, and give her some of her herbal tea, and maybe run her bath if she would allow him to.

Suddenly, he appeared back around the machines, “…by the way Brii?”

Her eyes met his, questioning.

“I don’t know what you are wearing, but if your Dad wakes up and sees you in that, he’s liable to kill Corso.”

Brii looked down at what she considered a perfectly proper wardrobe, her best features on display. Sure, the pants were tight but that was part of the package, the tied shirt was covering all of her girl parts but showed just enough to be effective with stupid men, and for that matter women, too—her toned tummy slowed _everyone_ down—this was the _perfect_ smuggler’s outfit.

She glanced back up at her grandfather, “I don’t see what’s wrong with it—and b'sides why are you not discussing how tight _his_ pants are?” she pointed to Corso beside her, her eyes brushing up and down his body before putting her hands on her hips, his hands flying up in the air, “Don’t be bringing me into this!”

Brii scoffed at Corso, shoving him sideways and walked forward, “Besides Dae won’t do nothing—Corso and I have been married for almost ten years! If he was planning to pitch a fit about our _personal activities_ , that ship done sailed through this galaxy—and about eighteen other ones as well.”

She nearly burst out laughing at her grandfather’s horrified expression, instead she turned around looking back at Corso, who was counting on his fingers, then he corrected her, “Nineteen, don’t forget the one with the weird fish people.”

She nodded, turning back to her grandfather, “Nineteen.”

Andronikos grunted, a long slow sound of disapproval filling the room, “Hellfire and damnation, Brii!”

She laughed then, a deep, hearty sound that filled the room with joy, Corso joining in, his arm coming around her waist to pull her back to him.

“It’s a contest, everyone plays—'cept for Niko for obvious reasons—you should ask Maer about it when she wakes up,” she burst out laughing again at the sight of Andronikos’ discomfort, his body shuddering, grimacing at her as he turned to carry his Sith to their ship.

“We’re in second place,” she called out to him, still laughing, “You don’t want to know who is in first place—that’s a conversation for you and Maer to have, when you are in a brand new galaxy!”

She smiled when she heard her grandfather’s curses as he went down the hallway.

“You’re incorrigible, Capt’n,” Corso whispered in her ear, leaning down to kiss her neck, “that was downright mean.”

She reached her hand up to hold his head to her, scraping her fingernails through his hair, “He’ll kill me when he finds out there’s no contest—but his expression was totally worth it.”

“Hopefully, we’ll be off this planet by then,” he mumbled, his hands squeezing her hips, “course, knowing her, your Grannie might just play along.”

“Ew,” she frowned, her face twisted in disgust, “Corso, they’re my grandparents!”

He laughed, his breath flowing across her skin making her shudder, “Well, you get all your feisty from somewhere—that’s all I’m gonna say.”

She hummed lightly, turning in his arms, her hands grabbing his face, kissing him soundly, “Good point. I love you, Farmboy.”

“Now, you know I love you too, Capt’n, but…” he turned her around and pointed her at the bed where her father was, slapping her on the backside, causing her to squeal, gently pushing her forward, “still got some words to share with your old man there—go get ‘em.”

She moved to the bed, her father laying so still, he was a shell of himself, but she knew he was in there—she could feel it—so she leaned down to him, close to his face, all of her tears spent and now knowing what needed to be done.

“You taught me that we were verda, you raised me to stomp my feet to the universe’s fight song! I’m here to fight for, _with_ you—and I don’t settle for failure—it’s not in my  mandokar—not in yours either, and certainly not in Eldae’s. You are gonna be strong when she comes home! It’s time for you to return to battle!” She pushed her hand to him, flattening her palm over his heart, a soft glow coming from her hand to his chest, “You feel me. I am strong, and willful. I am fierce and I am Mando’ade. I am the daughter of the two most powerful Mandalorians in the galaxy—and I am not going to battle without you.”

She leaned over, her hand still resting on his chest, closer to him, her entire body glowing for a moment as the cry left her lips, “Oya manda!”

The machines near her beeped wildly, her eyes shifting to look at them, his heart rate having increased, setting off alarms. She turned to look at him, smiling broadly, “Fight the good fight, Daedae. K’oyacyi!”

Andare rushed into the room, tapping buttons on the machines and walking to stand on the other side of Brii and Corso. Her eyes studying Torian, his machines hadn’t made any new sounds since the day she had hooked him up to them—she glanced up, jumping as if she didn’t even notice them there so absorbed was she in Torian…her eyes widening as she looked at Brii for the first time.

“Andronikos said you are Torian’s….daughter?” she gestured to the man beside her, “and son-in-law?”

Brii nodded, grinning at the perplexed expression on the medical officer’s face, glancing down at the chart in her hand, and then back up to look at Brii—clearly trying to figure out the math. Corso cleared his throat, “No sense in even doin’ the figures, ma’am, there is some kind of alien calcula’tin involved that don’t no one fathom ‘cept them.”

Andare’s eyes widened, looking from Torian, then back to Brii, “That would…actually explain…quite a lot...so, he's...an...alien?”

Brii burst out into laughter, slapping her leg, "Him?" she pointed at Torian, waiting for Andare to answer. When she nodded, Brii tried to speak through her laughter, "He's 100% human through and through. He's no alien."

Andare looked at her, confused, "...but he's your father...which means...he's older than he is?" She looked back down at Torian, "...but the tests all show his age at 26. It's not possible for you to be his daughter."

"I'm clearly missing something here," she mumbled flipping through Torian's chart again.

"Ma'am, it's not cause you aren't smart or nothing," Corso spoke softly, "it takes some fancy ways of accepting information that doesn't really make a whole lot of sense to be able to understand."

"Jujumagumbo," Brii said flatly.

"Yep," Corso nodded, "unexplainable truths that don't fit into the confines of the reality we know? Jujumagumbo."

"Jujuma..." Andare stared at the two of them, "are you serious?"

"Yep!" Brii nodded, “Nothing to worry about, we’re gonna see him back to good health. I’m going to need to see your boss so I can arrange moving him onto my ship without causing any problems for her.”

Andare studied the woman, her resemblance to Torian remarkable. She wondered what her mother looked like since she favored her father so much. Her blonde hair was the exact color of Torian’s pulled into an intricate braid that fell down her back, and her eyes…they were a brilliant blue—and though she had only seen Torian’s eyes when she checked them for dilation she’d be willing to bet money on the fact that they looked just like the ones she was looking at.

She blinked rapidly when Brii waved her hand in front of her face, “Hello? Is this thing on?”

Andare laughed, embarrassed, “I’m sorry—it’s just….you look just like your father.”

Brii glanced down at him, smiling, “Not ashamed of that, I’ll tell ya, though I got a spark of my Momma in me too, to be sure!” She winked at Andare, nodding.

“I’ll arrange everything you need to get him off planet without any suspicion. Probably not until tomorrow though, I’m sorry,” Andare put the chart back on the end of the bed, walking toward the door, Brii and Corso following.

“That’s just fine by us,” Corso murmured, nodding toward the door, gesturing for Andare to walk first, “We got us some explorin’ to do here.”

“Good, good…well, wait, no, you should really be very careful out there beca…” Andare stopped, looking at the amused expressions on their faces and realizing that they clearly knew how to take care of themselves. She walked to the door, turning to look back at them, “Then I’ll speak with you tomorrow with the plans!”

Corso nodded, turning to look at Brii who was staring at him, her eyes wide and dilated, “What’s this about some kind of exploring, Corso?”

He smiled at her, pulling her into his arms, “The way I got it figured—this is one system we haven’t been in before, Capt’n, and it sounds like we’re free til tomorrow mornin’.” He leaned down, kissing the side of her head, whispering in her ear, “Thinkin’ a _private_ tour.”

She felt a wave of excitement wash over her as she picked up on the direction his mind was taking him. Her hands came up to grab his face, pulling it down to hers, her mouth sliding softly across his lips and he hummed, starting to lean into her, but then he stood straight up abruptly, her expression confused, “What the heck, Cor…”

His hands flew up, taking a step back, his face pleading, “No, no, no, not _here_ —dang woman, you muddle my brain—that’s your Dae over there, and I am not sure he _still_ wouldn’t kill me for thinkin’ bout you like that.”

She laughed, her eyes twinkling as she grabbed his hand and started dragging him out of the room, “Then let’s find somewhere else to finish this conversation!” She wagged her eyebrows up and down and he blushed, laughing at him when he shook his head.

“Besides, I’ll protect you from Dae.”

They were nearing the back door, when he pulled on her arm, sweeping her up into his arms, kissing her quickly, and then started walking her backwards, her head falling back as she laughed, him corralling her toward the exit, “I’m counting on it, pretty lady.”

  

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE YOU ALL! If you read to here, I am always trying to come up with new ways to tell you how VERY MUCH I appreciate you! Your kindness, enthusiasm, and you reading my work is such a beautiful part of my world. THANK YOU!
> 
> * * *
> 
> Translations: I've put a * by the words that are not-Mando'a.
> 
> Gedet'ye [geh-DET-yay] Please
> 
> Nuhoy cyar ner verd’ika ner,  
> [noo-HOY shar nair vair-DEE-kah nair]  
> Sleep sweet my little soldier mine,
> 
> Mand’alor’s kotep taylir keldab,  
> [Mand’alor’s KOH-tehp TIE-leer kel-DAHB]  
> Mand’alor’s bravest hold the line,
> 
> *Eldae'na [EL-day-NAH] Mother, Mom
> 
> *Maer'naeh [MARE-nay] Grandmother, literally Elder Ma
> 
> *Maer'naih [MARE-nigh] Grandfather, literally Elder Pa
> 
> *Maer [MARE] Affectionate term for Grandmother, literally Elder, equal to Grannie, Mamaw, or other affectionate name--this term is also used to refer to the male equivalent: Grandpa ie, Papaw, Pappie, etc.
> 
> *Ahdea'na [AH-day-NAH] Father, Dad
> 
> Ni ceta dar'olar. Ni olaror jii.  
> [nee SET-ah dahr OH-lar. nee oh-LAR-ohr gee]  
> I'm sorry I wasn't here. I'm here now.
> 
> Ni kelir gaa'taylir gar, jahaala gar, Ni Kelir nu draar ba'slanar gar tug'yc akay gar cuyir ani.  
> [nee kel-EER gah-TAY-leer gahr, ja-HAH-lah gahr, nee kel-EER noo DRAR BAH-slah-NAR gahr too-GEESH ah-KAY gahr KOO-yeer AH-nee]  
> I will help you, heal you, I'll not leave you again until you are whole.
> 
> Gedet'ye, Daedae [geh-DET-yay DAY-day] Please, Daddy
> 
> *Ahdae [ah-DAY] A more affectionate term than the use of Daddy--less juvinile--with full appreciation of who your parent is and what they mean to you
> 
> Gedet'ye nu draar vaabir not ba'slanar ni  
> [geh-DET-yay noo DRAR VAH-beer BAH-slah-NAR nee]  
> Please do not leave me. Do not is emphatic as in never leave me.
> 
> *Eldae [EL-day] Extremely affectionate term--less juvinile thank Mommy or Mama--with full appreciation of who your parent is and what they mean to you
> 
> Ni ceta [nee SET-ah]sorry (lit: I kneel) grovelling apology - rare
> 
> Briikase [bree-KAH-say]happy
> 
> *Se'teai [say-TIE] Affectionate nickname which loosely means sweet little
> 
> *ai te'aer er [EYE tay-AIR er] I love you
> 
> *aim'te [AIM-tay] Connection--link--heart
> 
> Dae [DAY] Dad
> 
> verda [VAIR-dah] warriors
> 
> mandokar [MAN-doh-KAR]the *right stuff*, the epitome of Mando virtue - a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life
> 
> Oya manda![OY-ah-MAN-dah]Expression of Mandalorian solidarity and perpetuity: emotional and assertive.
> 
> K'oyacyi![Koy-AH-shee!] *Come back safely.* Literally, a command; *Stay alive!*


	7. Branded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: This chapter contains violence and bullying. 
> 
> A special note about MANDALORIAN ONLY chapters:
> 
> The resol'nare, or Six Actions, defines what a Mandalorian does.
> 
> 4\. "I will always speak Mando'a to other Mandalorians." The Mandalorian language, Mando'a, is one of the most important things that sets the Mandalorians apart from other groups. 
> 
> SO...while I absolutely REFUSE to make my readers struggle through and ENTIRE chapter with every single piece of dialogue translated into Mando'a--please know that these exclusively Mandalorian chapters--these people ARE speaking in Mando'a. Every word. Every action. Every thought. It is as basic to them as breathing. So, I add words for emphasis cause I love to do that, but the truth of this chapter and the next is ALL of the words are in Mando'a.
> 
> * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter...it broke my heart. I'm not even kidding. I have cried for two days over it. It hit me out of no where, not even on my radar and then BOOM! It was written. The feels are strong with this one. Be prepared, maybe some tissues, and some chocolate. A soft kitten to snuggle after you read it. I have no idea...but I feel like I should offer to pay for everyone's therapy after this chapter haha
> 
> Please still love me.
> 
> You can hold your cursor over any of the Mando'a/Non-Basic words in the story and the pronunciation and explanation will pop up for you! I haven't tested this on mobile yet, but it works on the computer!
> 
> In case that doesn't work: Chapter 7 Translations: For those who don't like to wait til the end to know what the non-english words mean (like me!) This works especially well if you open it in another window so you can just click back and forth to see the translations as you hit the words. (Right click and say "open in new tab")
> 
> WARNING: Contains spoilers of course!
> 
> Translations: http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/post/149258238181/the-pages-between-chapter-7-branded
> 
> Chapter Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCmzlzRgPUhGsuAeUzxB66V2ytVeFhT6H
> 
> * * *
> 
> I know, there are SO MANY NOTES HERE! I'm sorry haha
> 
> Videos on my youtube channel to make you smile and a drabble here on AO3 that is from this story but isn't directly written for it--if that makes sense haha
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/7817929/chapters/17842813
> 
> HUGGLES!!
> 
> * * *

* * *

Torian had awakened that day like a boy on fire, seven years old—and finally, he was going to be taught how to use a double bladed vibrosword. He had barely slept the night before, his body wired with the anticipation, and when his feet hit the ground he ran as fast as he could to the tent where the man who was tasked with training him slept. He had waited, standing at the tent flap for a long time, as dawn was just breaking when he had arrived. He was vibrating with excitement, so anxious to get started.

It wasn’t exactly normal for a boy his age to be trained, especially not with a live weapon—but very little about Torian’s life to date could be considered in the realm of normal. He had nothing else to focus on once he was old enough to understand the bitter sting of being excluded and made fun of. He made a habit of sitting along the edges of the training field—watching the older kids learning, envious—keeping himself far away from the other children who would call him names and mistreat him. Eventually, the training master Jaal had started to give him small tasks to help with, like polishing armor and sharpening knives. Then one day when Torian was four Jaal began to teach him stances and forms. Finding something he was good at meant that Torian threw everything he had into the learning, and a quick study he was.

Torian liked Jaal, one of the few adults he felt as if he wasn’t always in trouble with. It wasn’t that the man was overly friendly or kind, or even that he paid any special attention to Torian, not above allowing him to spend an extraordinary amount of time on the training field. Torian’s preferred form of avoidance. It was just that when he trained Torian, he didn’t treat him like an outcast. Never made him feel like an aruetii like the rest of the clan did, whether directly or indirectly.

Thanks to Jaal, he just felt like a normal boy, a real Mando’ade when he was being trained.

Jaal walked out of the tent, his face showing his surprise at seeing Torian there so early.

A man of few words, he walked past Torian, across the training grounds to the weapons rack. He handed Torian the testing stick—a long weapon designed with weight on each end—to emulate handling a real vibrosword. He’d been using this stick for months now. Jaal gestured him to the middle of the space, his voice firm, “Show me what you know, and then maybe I’ll let you try to real thing today.”

Torian spent many long hours moving his body through the exercises, proving himself—showing his balance, his skill, his abilities, full motions that would make the weapon an extension of his own body. He was a model student, his eagerness to please something that made him pay attention to the lessons, to learn as much as he could as fast as he was able—and this weapon, it was his destiny, he knew it in the inner depths of who he was.

After an entire day of practice, testing, providing proof—Jaal finally put a real vibrosword into his hands.

“This is an exact replica of a full sized one. Difference is size only—understand—it is not a toy. A Mando’ade accepts the responsibility of having his own weapon and the power that lies in that weapon. You can do great harm to others—and even harm to yourself—if you do not use the tool properly. I am giving this weapon to you because I trust you understand the gravity of that responsibility.”

Torian nodded his head, words failing him, his eyes scanning the metal on the weapon, the way his hand gripped around it. It seemed as if the electrical current running inside the casing was not just moving through the weapon but through his very soul. He tested the weight of it, the way it felt in his hands, bigger than he was expecting but not unwieldy—not impossible, made to his stature. His body shook with the energy the weapon gave him, his eyes wide, looking up to the Trainer, unsure of what to do.

Jaal nodded at him, “It’s yours, what do you want to do?”

Torian stared at the trainer, realizing that he was actually giving this treasure to him. His eyes widened as he looked at the weapon in a different light, it looked like something otherworldly in his hands. He held the hilt out in front of him, his hand steady, as he hit the trigger and jerked the weapon down—blades lit up with golden light flying out of each end of the weapon, a static sound filling the air around them. He bent his body into a fighting stance, twirling the weapon once in his hand, smiling as the blade whoosed over his head.

Jaal had set up a series of trials—fitting for a young Mando’ade just handed the responsibility of his first weapon, and when Torian looked up at him, he gestured to the trials set up across the field. Torian saw the training bags, hung at different heights, different methods set up in a type of circle meant to emulate a crowd of enemies.

“Don’t cut your own hand off.” Jaal grunted after he spoke, as if he wasn’t completely sure that wasn’t what was going to happen.

Torian knew what he was meant to do. His cry carried through the valley as he turned and ran, “Oya Manda!”

He sailed across the ground, his body flying through the air as he neared the first training bag. The christening blow cutting the entire weighted back down from the frame. He came down on top of it, still moving forward, his blade slashing through the bag, then the moment his foot hit the ground just past it he spun himself across the space to the next bag. He turned his body in motion to slash across the belly of it, sand pouring out, then as quickly as he had slashed it, he kicked himself upward in an arc—the blade slashing through the top of the bag and then he pulled down with a grunt, the material slicing through, the entirety of the contents spilling out to the ground below.

He bolted to the other side of the area, another war cry spilling from his lungs, his body feeling truly alive for the first time. He reached the bag, jumping up on it, using his momentum to pitch himself to the top, his hand grabbing the rope as he pivoted swinging around to the backside of it—dropping down, feet hitting the ground behind it—kicking his legs up into the air as he cartwheeled to the bag next to it, lifting up as his arms moved in a circular motion as he pitched himself forward onto the top of the bag, slashing high, then low, laughing as the bag fell with him, tumbling him to the ground.

He was out of breath and positively exhilarated from his first ‘hunt’. He cried out as he held the weapon up above himself, “OYA!” and then shook it while he pressed the control for the two blades to recess, letting the weapon lay across his chest. He looked at the blue sky with fluffy white clouds, he breathed the air in deeply, his hands grabbed the earth around him. He realized in that moment he had never known happiness. He had never really seen, felt, breathed, not until now.

He was exuberant with joy when Jaal came and stood over him, his arms crossed, “That was _okay_ , but you missed one of them.” He cut his eyes to the bag that was still hanging next to where he was standing.

Torian tried to catch his breath, tried to slow down, smiling despite his inability to breath, sitting up, head shaking, pointing to the bag. He kicked his foot out, hitting the bag, it started to slowly spin.

Jaal frowned, walking to the bag, using his hand to spin it, his eyes widening when he saw three small daggers plummeted deep inside the back of the bag. Not even sure where Torian had gotten the daggers, let alone where he was holding them, and even more than that, how he had managed to use all three of them on the bag as fast as he had been moving. It seemed impossible.

“You are truly gifted in this art,” Jaal spoke in a tone that spoke less of surprise and more of pride. The words seemed like they came out of his mouth without him meaning for them to.

Torian startled at the praise, something no one had really given him before—not sure how to take it or what his response should be. He nodded his head once, “Thank you, Master Jaal.”

Jaal stared at him, and Torian was uncomfortable under the scrutiny, starting to fidget with the buckles on his gloves.

“Don’t ever stop learning,” Jaal squatted down so he could look into Torian’s eyes, “Life is about learning and growing, you might as well be dead if you are not working every day at being a better man, a better Mando’ade.”

Torian nodded, understanding.

“Go on to dinner, you need to eat verd, always keep kot oya'karir,” he stood up, his hand reaching out to Torian. He took the man’s hand, letting him help pull him up off the ground.

Jaal grunted, flustered by how much he was growing to like this kid, “Go see Saern tomorrow morning, before you report here.”

Torian was confused, he raised his shoulders in question.

“I’ll let her know to get your fittings,” he gestured to Torian’s form, “you’re due for some armor that actually fits you—instead of someone else’s cast offs.”

Torian’s heart stopped in his chest, his hands sweating and his mind racing— _my own armor…armor made to fit me…but…_

Torian’s head dropped, his eyes looking at Jaal’s feet, “I don’t think I can do that, sir.”

Jaal crossed his arms, clearing his throat, indicating for Torian to face him when he was speaking to him, to look into his eyes, “And why exactly is that?”

Torian started to shuffle his feet, but stopped when Jaal’s eyes narrowed, “Sir, I do not have a sponsor.”

The metal for their armor was exceptionally rare and incredibly expensive. For the younger Mando’ade they mixed the pure metals with other kinds, to keep the costs low—as the youngsters grew quickly—most of them were sent to the crates of ‘training armor’, meant to use the different pieces to put together a set of armor. Most were from other’s which were outgrown. Only kids who had a sponsor, either a family member, parent or some other interested party who would front the money for their own custom armor would ever get that kind of luxury. A set of armor that fit them to the exacting standards molded to their own form.

Jaal stood there staring at Torian for a long time, making Torian sweat and feel weak in his knees.

“You do as you’re told,” Jaal spoke, conviction marking his words.

Torian jumped at the tone, then nodded, “Ye….yes sir.”

Jaal held his hand out for the weapon. Torian wanted to hold it close to his chest and hug it. He knew he would not be allowed to keep the weapon for a while, but he also knew that Jaal would keep it in a safe place where no one else would ever touch it. A Mando’ade’s weapon was his own.

He handed the weapon to the trainer, feeling the absence acutely the moment his fingers no longer felt the cold of the metal. His eyes lifted to look at Jaal who had a crooked grin on his face.

“Go on then!” the man gestured to the direction of the mess tent.

Not having to be told twice, Torian turned and start to make his way from the training grounds back to the camp. He had made it past the first curve in the path when he heard something in the woods beside him. His hands shot to the back of his armor to grab his daggers from the bottom edge of his chest piece, when he realized he had left them lodged in the training bag. His mind raced, as he was without a weapon, and these woods were known to have some vicious predators. His eyes drifted to his hands, realizing that was the best he had.

His body curled into a fighting stance, his eyes moving through the dusk, trying to see a form, when he jumped, hearing a noise from the other side of the path. He bolted backward, his eyes keeping track of the space in front of him, putting distance between him and the noise.

A loud laugh broke the silence, a boy several years older than him named Jogo stepping out into the path from the woods—two other boys following him from other parts of the woods.

Torian stood up, confused, not sure why they were in the woods, hiding from him. He heard a whistle from somewhere behind him. He turned his body, trying to see who was there but there were only trees and underbrush in his line of vision.

“That’s the all clear,” one of the boys told Jogo, his head tipping toward Torian. The boys walked over to him, each one standing at least two feet taller than him.

“So, I heard Master Jaal thought you were…” Jogo looked to the boy to the right of him, “what was it he said? Gifted in the art of blah, blah, blah….”

Torian tilted his head, struggling to understand what he meant. That was what Jaal had told him. Before he could speak one of the boys grabbed the back of his armor, lifting his feet off the ground. He started to thrash side to side, trying to make him put him back down.

“I also heard that he is sponsoring you.”

The other boys laughed and grunted. Torian stilled, his hands clenching into fists, “So?”

Jogo moved forward his face inches from Torian’s his breath hot and foul on his skin, “So…there’s no way an arue'tal like you deserves to have beskar'gam. Beskar'gam is for true Mando’ade, not a pretender like you.”

Understanding washed over him as he began to realize what was happening, his eyes moving around the area trying to make a plan, to find weapons, anything he could use. His eyes snapping back to Jogo, “Don’t call me that.”

“What’re you gonna do? Cry about it, arue’tal,” Jogo leaned in closer still, laughing at Torian.

Suddenly, Torian’s head shot forward, his forehead smashing into Jogo’s nose, the woods filled with the sound of his scream as blood began to pour out of his nose. His hand reached forward grabbing Torian’s hair and pulling it, jerking his head down, Jogo's knee coming up, crashing into his face.

“You…..skanah….I’m gonna teach you a lesson!”

One of the other boys took a hold of Torian’s arm, while the one behind him moved to hold his other one. A terrible noise came from his body when Jogo’s fist landed in his throat. He struggled to breath, the world spinning for a moment, his legs buckling under him, but the boys were still holding him upright.

Another blow landed, aimed to strike between the space between his front and back chest plate, the air rushing out of his body as he absorbed the punch. He was gasping for breath.

“Say it! Say you are unworthy, admit you are an arue’tal—and I will stop.” Jogo reached up wiping the still dripping blood from his nose on his shirt sleeve. Punching him on the other side of his body.

Torian’s head wobbled, then he closed his eyes, gathering himself, he opened his eyes, staring at Jogo, “Have a better idea, come back over here.”

Pain radiated from his face, Jogo having moved so quickly he couldn’t even see him before he had hit him square in the jaw, his mouth tasting blood—and as quickly as his brain was able to process that pain, another blow landed across his cheek. He felt tears welling up, and he cursed, his mind racing.

_Don’t you do it, don’t you give them that!_

He opened his eyes, fury setting in them, the two boys who were holding him talking to Jogo about whether someone would be coming down the path soon.

Jogo reached forward grabbing Torian’s tender face by the jaw, hissing at him, “Say it, hut'uun!”

“Nu draar,” Torian hissed, spitting blood at his face.

Taking advantage of their distracted stance, he used their legs to kick his feet up, leveraging himself on where they were still holding him tight around his arms. His feet flew up, and then shot straight out, kicking Jogo square in the chest sending him sprawling across the ground.

The boys holding him were shocked, Torian used it against them, as he twisted, one leg wrapping around the boy on his right, his hand shooting out to grab the belt of the one on the left—flinging his body out and sideways, using his legs to twist the boy, then kick him in the gut, sending him sailing backward, tumbling head over feet. The boy whose belt Torian was holding, started to fall, the momentum from Torian’s actions causing him to wobble. Torian released the belt, the boy letting go of him trying to gain his balance.

Torian rolled into the fall, his hands hitting the ground as he kicked his feet up, they flew through the air as he sprung sideways, twisting in the air so that the side of his boot smashed into the boy’s jaw—sending him to the ground screaming as blood poured out of his nose and mouth. Torian landed, pitching himself onto the boy, punching him in the face as hard as he could.

Arms came around him, as Jogo started to pull him backward, off of the boy he was perched on. Torian pushed himself into the movement, sending Jogo onto his back, Torian on top of him, he lifted his head and cracked it down onto the boy’s face in quick succession, Jogo’s curses filling the air. His arms tried to grab Torian as he lifted, rolling to the side, his leg swinging up as he rolled hitting Jogo square across the face as he tried to come after him.

He used the other leg to kick him backward as he rolled. Torian crouched on the ground, preparing to launch himself past the boys when the one who was behind him grabbed his foot, dragging him to the ground. Torian tried to kick him, his foot lashing out, but the boy was so strong. Too strong. He pulled him back, his hands crawling up his leg, dragging him closer.

Torian dug his hands into the dirt, scrambling, trying to find a hold, something to help him—but his hands found no purchase. He had just managed to get a swift kick to face of the boy who was dragging him back when Jogo was there. One of his hands grabbed Torian’s hair, pulling it up while his other hand came down to grab the back of his armor, picking him up and throwing him down to the ground on his back. His entire body rattling in the armor, the wind knocked out of him.

Before he could move, both of the boys were on him, their knees putting all of their weight on his arms on his arms, holding them down, Jogo dropping down, sitting on his waist, punching him in the chest, then the side, Torian’s legs going wild behind him, trying to boot him off but he weighed a good hundred pounds more than Torian.

His eyes widened as he saw a blade flash in the dim light, his efforts to get free renewed. He heard Jogo whistle, and another boy walked into the clearing.

“Hold his head still,” Jogo spit on the ground next to Torian, his face marred with blood and dirt, “I don’t want my work of art ruined.”

The boy fell to his knees above Torian’s head, his hands coming around his face, holding it completely still.

“Hurry up,” one of the boys said, his voice shaking, “that was a lot of noise.”

“Hold him still!” Jogo screamed at the boy, as Torian was still bucking and trying to get loose.

The boy at his head reached forward, his hand pressing hard into Torian’s neck, the whole world started spinning and he stilled, his body going limp, all of the nerves below the spot on his neck shut down.

Jogo leaned over him, his face full of hatred, his hand reaching to grab Torian’s chin, squeezing hard causing pain to shoot through his head.

His voice a hiss, “You are and will always be arue’tal, it doesn’t matter what armor you put on or how gifted an old man says you are—you are worthless—and you will never be anything other than arue’tal.”

Torian’s eyes went wide as the blade came within his sight, trying to shake his head but the boy over him was strong, and held him fast. His eyes followed the blade as Jogo brought it down to his cheek. He tried to stop the noise from coming out, but it did against his will, pain radiating under his eye, he could feel blood dripping down the side of his face, into his eyes, blinking rapidly—better knowing what to expect he managed to stay silent, when Jogo moved the knife to make the same cut on the other cheek—Torian’s vision blurring from the blood.

Jogo leaned back, smiling, “There, now you aren’t a part of our clan—and the world will know it! Poor little skanah, you have no buir to teach you about our ways, you orphan, so you wouldn’t know what this symbol means—but I am going to educate you, arue’tal.”

“These lines,” Jogo reached his hands down, his thumbs dragging across each of the open wounds on Torian’s cheeks, his body cringing, a low groan elicited despite his best efforts to stay silent, eyes closing tightly to hold back the tears, fingernails biting into his palms, “they mean ‘coward’. So it doesn’t matter what armor you wear hut'uun or who thinks you are special—everyone who sees you for the rest of your life will know the truth—you are and will always be nothing but an arue’tal.”

Torian had tried so hard, to be good, to be strong, to not cry but he felt the tears filling up his eyes and he couldn’t stop it as a sob washed over him, "No...gedetir."

“Ik'aad, gonna cry now,” Jogo snarled at him, “Good! Show everyone what you are!”

Jogo stood up then, noise coming from down the now dim path, turning back to Torian, kicking him in the side, before he turned to run into the woods. The other boys scrambled up and ran away through the woods.

Torian's body had curled inward when the kick had landed. He slowly shifted to his back, his chest heaving as the emotions threatened to overwhelm him. His hands trembling, drifting up to his cheeks, pressing into them, “No, no, gedet’ye, no.” His body shook with his grief, as he rolled over to his stomach, pushing his hands under him, struggling to lift himself to his hands and knees, stopping as his body tried to understand the pain it felt.

He screamed when arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him up, his body thrashing wildly thinking that the boys had returned to do him more harm.

“Gev! Torian stop it!!!” It took a moment for Corridan’s voice to break through the terror, finally, Torian stilled, and Corridan leaned down and set him on his feet.

“What in the world is wrong with you!” He walked around Torian, his breath catching when he realized he was hurt, “Tor, what…what happened to you?”

He dug in his pocket, pulling out a star light, cracking it, the bright white slowly growing to cast light on Torian’s face.

“Who did this?” Corridan demanded, his voice filled with fury, he leaned down, closer, his eyes making out the symbol as he realized what he was seeing on his friend’s face, a series of curse words that would make the saltiest Mando’ade blush being uttered as he shook with anger.

“Damn it, Torian! Tell me who did this!” When Torian didn’t speak, Corridan reached out to shake him, his anger overriding his thought processes, but stopped, his hands frozen on Torian’s arms when he realized that Torian was shrinking away from him, flinching.

He moved his hands away from him as if he had been burned, holding them up in front of him so Torian could see them, “Sorry, I’m sorry… Haar'chak!”

His hand drifted up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. He reached down, ripping one of the sleeves off of his shirt, balling it up, pressing it onto Torian’s cheeks, nodding for him to hold them there. Torian’s hands shook as he raised them up, pressing down on the cloth like he’d been told.

“Come on, I’ll take care of you,” Corridan gestured for Torian to follow him.

The boys walked a different path than Torian had ever been on, and he wasn’t sure where they were going. They finally came to a tent, nestled in a small cove—sheltered by the high rock walls around it, only one way in and one way out of the area.

“Wait here, okay?” Corridan watched Torian who was shaking so hard, he led him over to a boulder, sitting him down there, “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

Torian just stared straight ahead, his eyes unfocused.

“Tor!” He jumped when Corridan raised his voice, “Stay right here.”

Torian nodded, Corridan turned and walked to the tent, hitting the wooden frame in a series of knocks and then entering.

Torian had no idea how much time had passed. He was numb. His mind was tired. He would never be able to face the clan now. His face told a story he could not possibly overwrite or erase.

He didn’t notice Corridan approach, jumping when he spoke, “Torian, this is my Uncle, he is going to clean you up, okay?”

Torian couldn’t see much, but the man’s voice was soft, soothing, and Torian was comforted by it. His ears were ringing so he couldn’t make out what the man was saying but he nodded, feeling very tired all of a sudden. The man walked to him, reaching down and picking him, up, carrying him inside the tent. The night was already fallen so there was a fire in the middle of the tent, the chimney rising up out of the top. The room was dim but once his eyes adjusted, he could see Corridan sitting across from him. There were noises around him, but he couldn’t see past a few feet—his eyes swollen, and the blood still marring his vision.

The man spoke, softly and slowly—he moved slowly too, and he would say what he was going to do before he did it, something Torian appreciated, so he could know what was happening. The man used warm clothes, pressed onto his skin, soothing it and cleaning it. He laid a cold rag across his neck that felt so good. A woman rushed into the tent, causing to Torian to jump, she apologized, moving more slowly toward him, settling herself down on her knees in front of him.

“Demagolka,” she whispered, her hand coming up to touch the side of Torain’s head softly. He wanted to lean into it, but he held himself still.

“I’ll handle it, Riduur,” the man said, standing and looking down at Torian, his countenance raw fury. Torian drew in smaller, cowering, afraid he had done something to anger the man. The man's brow furrowed, then he shook his head, his hands clenched as he strode out of the tent.

The woman, slowly took off Torian’s armor, careful with him as he grimaced when she would touch a tender spot. She carefully pulled the cloth from around his neck off, gasping when she saw the black and blue marking the skin there. Once she’d removed all of the armor, her hands shook as she slowly lifted his shirt, to check for injuries, and her head fell when she saw that his entire torso was discolored from the beating he had endured.

He could hear Corridan muttering something, and the woman reached over laying her hand on his knee.

“Cor,” the woman turned her head, looking at him, “I need you to go get water from the river, and gather me some of the feather plants along the shore, as many as you can find—grab that flask and take the pouch on the table to tuck the flowers in—I have a star light by the door—make sure you fill the bag up, okay?”

Corridan nodded, glad to be of some use, picking up the items and rushing out the door.

The woman lifted herself to her feet, sitting down beside Torian, who stiffened. Her hand slowly reached out to take his own, just holding it, just letting him know she was there. His body shook at the comfort it provided, the feeling foreign and nearly overwhelming after the day he’d had.

After a few moments, her other hand reached around him, gently brushing through his hair, and then resting softly on his far shoulder—resting but at the same time somehow moving, almost pulling but not quite, it was a question but Torian wasn’t sure what it was.  He turned his head to look at her face, unsure of what was happening and wanting to understand.

She smiled at him, one of the prettiest things he had ever seen in his life, and he wanted to smile back, but when he attempted it, the pain in his face and jaw was almost blinding. She leaned her head down, looking into his eyes, “I sent them away,” she whispered, “You are safe here.”

Torian understood what she was saying, his eyes moving around the room realizing that it was just him and this woman left. He stared at her, he stared for so long he felt his eyes drying out, and then, suddenly, a long, low noise bubbled up out of him—and then he was sobbing, his body pitching forward, as the woman caught him in her arms, pulling him onto her lap, holding him gently so as to not hurt him, his head resting on her chest as his body was wracked with the force of his emotions.

She didn’t try to calm him down, she didn’t shush him or even move really, her hands were resting on him, wrapped around him, holding him there against her, and there was no judgement, no condemnation in her—only encouragement to be honest about his feelings.

He wept.

Tears for the pain he had endured that day.

_Hated._

For the cuts on his face that labeled him.

_Branded._

For every day he walked behind all of the other kids.

_Afraid._

For every time he was called arue'tal.

_Ashamed._

For every time his heart hurt when he fell asleep at night.

_Alone._

For the mother he had no memories of, no mementos, nothing to hold onto.

_Orphaned._

For the fact that this was the first time anyone had ever hugged him—and he wanted to hate it—but he didn’t so he wept for that, too.

_Starved._

For a father who didn’t just betray Mand’alor, but betrayed his son to this life.

_Forsaken._

For everything he had denied bothered him…he let the tears fall.

_Myself._

He had no idea how long he had cried, but eventually, he was just sniffling, his hands careful as they wiped his nose, trying to not touch his burning cheeks.

The woman leaned down to him, kissing his forehead softly, his eyes moving up to look at her.

She smiled at him, her voice low and soft, “Torian, can I tell you a story?”

He nodded.

“I knew this woman once who loved unlike anyone else. She was a precious soul—wise and beautiful and brilliant—and she fell in love—as most of our kind tend to do, don’t they?”

His eyes were wide, her voice captivating, he nodded.

“Yes! And this woman, she was so generous—she gave of her heart all the time, she shared the goods from her garden and she always had flowers in her bright blonde hair.”

“The man she fell in love with was a good man. They married—and soon after, they had a beautiful baby boy. He was strong, and his squalling made everyone in their clan agree that he was going to be a mighty warrior.”

“A short time passed, and the man, though he tried to be good, and he thought he understood life and living, he didn’t always listen to the right voices and sometimes he was led astray.”

“But this man—he loved the woman with all of his heart, and when he left to go to war, realizing that he had put her in danger—he hid her, far away from the war and the people in it—his last attempt to say how much he loved her and his son.”

She stared at Torian, waiting until he finally blinked and then continued, “Things did not go well for the man during the war—and the woman was afraid for herself and her child—now a babe of several moons.”

“A stranger appeared to the woman one day, and she was confused because she was so well hidden. The stranger told the woman that there were many things that would come to pass in time, but that she could promise the woman that her child would be safe.”

“The woman wasn’t superstitious but she was desperate to believe so she devised a plan with the stranger, to try to keep her boy safe—she went to the leader of the people her husband was fighting—her and the stranger both. The leader took the boy, and he vowed to keep him safe as long as the woman agreed to his terms.”

“Because she loved her son more than anything, she agreed to the leader’s terms—and no one ever saw or heard from the woman again. The leader kept his promise and delivered the boy to people whom he trusted to take care of him. The leader gave them very specific orders on how he was to be raised, and not wanting to risk the wrath of the leader, the people held fast and true to his demands—even when they did not agree with them.”

The woman shifted, her hand reaching into the pocket of her shirt, a thin line of gold coming out, a ring on the end of it, glittering and shimmering in the firelight, “This was the woman’s, a trinket that the leader allowed the family who took the boy in to hold for him, agreeing the child could have it when the time was right.”

She reached down, her hand pulling his forward, opening it flat, and then slowly let the ring rest on his palm, the gold chain puddling up around it. Torian’s eyes were wide and fixed on the ring in his hand.

“Do you understand, Torian?”

His eyes flashed up to hers—his hand closing fast, hard, squeezed shut around the treasure in his hand, nodding to her.

“I don’t know anyone who was ever more loved by his mother than that little boy.”

Torian sniffled, a single tear slowly sliding down his cheek before he squeezed the ring harder, the pain in his hand from the gems digging in giving him focus, he sat up, his back straightening, his shoulders squaring even though it made his ribs hurt and something deep inside of him feel like it was being ripped apart.

“Don’t ever forget the story,” her hand came to rest on his hand, holding it fast, wrapping around his hand, closed, Torian reached up to catch the tear that was falling down her cheek, his eyes questioning, she whispered to him, a smile breaking through, “That woman was my best friend.”

Torian jumped, scrambling back off of her lap when he heard a noise outside of the tent, the woman standing up, taking a deep breath, and then nodding to him, he returned the silent agreement.

The man had returned, his face stern and severe and Torian wanted to hide from him, but he sat still, not breaking eye contact as the man stared at him. He walked over, squatting down in front of him.

“Do you know how we make beskar, son?” Torian wanted to answer the question right, but he knew he couldn’t, slowly shaking his head—the title ‘son’ stinging as it hit his tender ears—knowing that the man was saying it the way he would any other boy in the world.

“Right,” he laughed softly, “it’s good that you don’t know—it’s a secret—only those who have been to the forge understand the process…and even then each part of the process has its own secrets.”

He took a deep breath, “but I want to tell you something about beskar and how it is made—there are many steps, from the mining of the ore on our home planet of Manadalore all the way to the fiery forges where the metallurgists craft it into the fine armor we wear to protect ourselves from our enemies.”

The man hit his fist on his chest plate, “beskar doesn’t give—it doesn’t yield to sword, or blaster, or even lightsabers—it is strong, it is solid, it is unbreakable.”

Torian nodded, fascinated.

“Can you guess how many times the iron has to be smelted before it reaches the purity required to be made into a single piece of beskar’gam?”

Torian thought for a moment that maybe it took more than once to make such a strong iron, “Three times, sir?”

“No, more than three,” the man paused giving Torian a chance to guess again.

Torian thought carefully, then suggested, “Five times?”

“Almost there—the ore has to be smelted seven times. Every time it is smelted the metallurgists have to work it—sometimes for days and weeks, and then smelt it again, and the process takes months to produce a single piece of beskar that has to be fitted and hammered into the right shape and form.”

His hand reached out, to rest on Torian’s knee, so small under his hand, “Once it’s finished it is stronger than any other metal in the world.”

Torian nodded, unsure if he was supposed to respond, nervous he wasn’t making the right answers.

“Pain that we endure, what we go through, the trials we face—the are our fiery forge. Today, you were put through another round of smelting.”

He stared at Torian, and Torian nodded, finally understanding.

“You have faced a lot of smelting in your short years, like the work of the beskar—seven years to be refined,” the man continued, smiling at him, “but, you should know each one of your years is drawing you toward the end result—a man bound with strength, with bravery, with vision, and with honor—a man as durable as beskar’gam.”

Torian smiled then, taking the man’s words to his heart, nodding, wanting to say something but not having the words to express it.

“You have a choice to make now Torian, and tomorrow you will make more choices—hard choices, maybe life changing choices—but tonight you must decide what you believe about who you are—and more importantly about who you are going to be.”

“Sir?” Torian was confused.

“Those marks on your face—they say you are something, something disgraceful and dishonorable—and if you leave them there—those marks will always tell the world that you believe that’s who you really are.”

The man stood up, walking across the room, picking something up and walking back to Torian, sitting on the bench beside him, his legs straddling it. He sat something down on the table next to them, reaching over to grab one of his swords, using it to draw the arc on Torian’s cheek in the sand beside their feet.

“That symbol is detestable—it speaks of a lack of honor,” the man waited for Torian to look at him, then nodded, his arm moving to draw two lines down the center of the arc, “Do you know what that symbol means?”

Torian shook his head, not having parents to teach him the way the other children were—he’d never learned much about their roots and their ancient languages, spoken or written, his cheeks flamed with shame.

The man made a noise, drawing his eyes up to him, “You haven’t had time to learn yet, but you will, there is no shame in continuing to learn your entire life.”

The man tapped the ground by their feet, drawing him back to the symbol there, “This symbol represents everything the other one doesn’t—it’s odd that the two symbols are so close to one another, made of the same lines, so easily could be one way or the other, but just a few extra strokes turns something that was meant to push a man under the foot of others, to destroy him, to make him a slave to the name—instead, raises him up, sets him apart—as this symbol means mandokar. That is a word that encompasses the qualities that make one Mando’ade—the virtues of righteous aggression, tenacity, loyalty, and a desire to live every day to the fullest. It stands for words you have yet to learn, more ideals life will reveal as you grow, and for everything a Mando’ade can and should be.”

“The choice is up to you, whether you want to wear the symbol that says you are this man,” he gestured to Torian’s face, and then pointed to the ground at the other symbol, “or that man.”

The man stood then, picking up the item he had placed on the table and set it next to Torian. He walked to the woman and pulled her out of the tent, Torian’s eyes fixated on the objects beside him, not seeing the way she tried to come back to him before her husband quickly ushered her outside.

He reached his hand out, touching the hilt of the small dagger that was laying on the mirror. It spun a little bit, the blade shimmering in the firelight. He picked it up, setting it to the side, then lifted the mirror, his hands shaking as he drew it up to his face. He focused and then gasped when he saw the weeping red marks that adorned each of his cheeks—wide, and deep, certain to leave an equally wide and deep scar. He glanced down to the floor at the symbol there, and then back at himself.

He reached out to pick up the knife, his hand shaking as he drew it up to see it more clearly. His eyes glanced to the blade sure that it was very sharp, would cut very easily. He crawled into the floor, grunting as the pain radiated through his body as he moved, his feet shuffling through the symbol there, grabbing a box from the table to prop the mirror up so he could see himself.

He stared into his own eyes, trying to see who he was, who he might one day be. Trying to decide if he was really the arue'tal everyone believed he was, or if he was meant to be more than that. He closed his eyes, desperate to know, to have an answer, and more afraid additional pain than he cared to admit.

He wouldn’t remember it, not in any kind of detail, he would never be able to explain it to anyone, but something moved inside of him, warm and soft. The air around him was so light and felt delicate on his skin, and there was such love surrounding him, something he didn’t understand because he’d never known what others spoke of, he had no name for it, but he’d guess that was the right feeling. Though he’d yearned for affection from a mother, none had ever shown such to him, and the small taste he had been given tonight showed him how beautiful it was.

He knew he would grow up and he would be more than this broken little boy. Something deep inside of himself knew it. He was sure, the light around him giving him strength. He gripped the knife in his hand, his eyes steady as he drew it down his cheek making a deep slash through the arc there, a low groan coming out as the stinging began. Without pause, he drew the second one, unaffected by the blood that began dripping down his face, onto his shirt. He immediately moved to do the other cheek, quickly drawing the knife through his skin, the pain echoing through him, and he relished it, he drew it deep inside, he anchored it to his soul, deciding that the man’s words rang true and this pain was part of the smelting.

His hand shook as he lowered the knife to the bench. Blinking at the stinging pain as the blood made a trail to his jaw. He raised his hand, opening it and looking down at the ring he had held tightly since the woman had given it to him.

_I will be worthy of a woman like my Mother. Brave. Strong. Fierce. Selfless. I will make myself approved for her. Then, I will remake Clan Cadera. I will grow warriors._

He didn’t turn when he heard someone enter the tent, his eyes shifted up and he was able to see Corridan through the mirror. His eyes catching his own, widening, “Torian! You…what did you do?” The flask of water splashed as it hit the ground.

He rushed over to him in a flurry, grabbing a piece of fabric from the table as he crossed the room, pushing himself between Torian and the bench—knocking the mirror to the side. He grabbed Torian’s face, pressing the cloth onto it, “What did you do?”

Torian had closed his eyes to the pain that the pressure was creating from Corridan pressing so hard on his face—but at the sound of alarm in his friend’s voice—his eyes opened.

Corridan looked at him, trying to understand, and then saw in Torian’s eyes something new. They were amused, as if they knew a secret no one else knew…Corridan struggled to understand—starting to think that he had lost his mind completely. Torian shifted his eyes, his eyebrows lifting, his shoulders raised in a shrug.

Corridan slowly pulled the cloth away from Torian’s face, looking down at his cheeks, a smile bursting across his face, “Mandokar.”

The man and woman walked into the tent, the woman crossing to sit on the bench beside where Corridan had sat down, her hand reaching out, cupping Torian’s face, smiling, proudly. She reached out taking what the man offered her, gently pressing the warm cloth to his cheek as she cleaned it.

Torian beamed under her attention, the feeling of pride thrumming through his veins, he relished it, he decided he would not settle for feelings less than this in his life. If he didn’t not live each day to the purpose of being proud of himself, then he wasn’t even living.

The woman set the cloth down, then reached over to draw the pouch from Corridan’s belt, opening it to pull the herbs out. Her husband handed her a small bowl and pestle—and she started grinding the petals into dust. Her husband brought other vials over to her, and she added them to the bowl. The two boys were fixated on her actions, not clear on what she was doing, but there was a very aromatic scent coming from the bowl. Sweet, and tangy at the same time.

After a few minutes, the woman stood, handing the bowl to her husband who took her place on the bench.

“Do you know why I did not tell you, or order you to change the symbol, Torian?”

He shook his head, unsure.

“No man should tell you who you are. No man has the right to label you, no man has the right to force you to be someone you are not…who you are—is, and should always be determined by you.”

Torian understood, his eyes bright and focused.

The man held up the bowl, “This is a treatment for your scars—old magic—passed down through the ages. In our galaxy, some cultures try to hide scars, people and their vanity have them removed, or hide them with cosmetics—but we are Mando’ade…”

Torian nodded, whispering softly, “Yes.”

“We _do not_ hide our scars—we wear them as a badge of honor—as a testament to our courage, our will, our strength and the places we have been—also serving as a map to where we are going.”

The man laughed then, a deep belly laugh, “I hate to tell you that it hurts, but it does, and I think you and I are past pretending with one another—but once you put it on, it will make your scars bright, it will make them beautiful, a symbol to be proud of.”

Torian didn’t hesitate, leaning up on his knees, dipping two fingers into the mixture—raising his hand to his cheek and rubbing it across it. His jaw clenched as the pain hit him, his hand shaking as he drew another portion out to apply to the other cheek. It felt like a million stings on his skin, burning and twisting. He raised his hand to the other cheek, willing his hand to still, and amazingly it did. He stroked the mixture across the cheek, taking the wet towel the man offered, wiping his fingers clean.

“Leave it there til morning, then, wash it off,” the man stood up, Torian scrambled to his feet, wincing at the movement as pain shot through him.

Corridan took Torian’s elbow, thanking the man, and started walking him to the door. The woman walked over to him, bending down, lifting his hand. She placed a gentle kiss there on the hand that was still clenched around the ring.

“Remember,” she whispered.

He nodded firmly, fire burning in his eyes. She smiled then, and he lifted his head up to look behind him as the man walked by ruffling his hair, “You did good, Torian. Ret'urcye mhi.”

Torian smiled as they walked back through the woods towards the barracks and other sleeping tents, thinking about the story the woman had told him, and about the way the man seemed to be proud of him. Those were good feelings. Something to aim for.

“You’re staying with me tonight,” Corridan broke the silence, “I’m in charge of you.”

Torian looked over at him, eyebrows drawn down into a scowl, “Don’t need a baby sitter.”

Corridan stopped walking, looked at him pointedly, gesturing up and down his person, “Really?”

“Fine,” he commented, stomping off toward Corridan’s tent, “but, you’re not the boss of me. Only four years older.”

“Psshhh,” Corridan laughed, “I already went through my verd'goten, two years early. I think we can both agree I am the boss here.”

“Not for long,” Torian commented, walking through the open flap, a decent sized tent, with several cots, but as far as he could tell, only Corridan lived there. He carefully eased himself down onto the extra cot in the corner, his eyes looking around the tent, a place he had spent a lot of time in, falling asleep almost instantly.

Someone touched his arm. He bolted upright, startled, his fist reaching forward and slamming into Corridan’s stomach, “Haar'chak! Torian! What the hell!”

“Sorry,” Torian mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, trying to see clearly, “What’s wrong?”

“The clan leaders have called an emergency meeting, everyone in the clan is required to attend, and we’re gonna be late if you don’t get your ass out of bed right now.”

Corridan threw a wet cloth at him, “Wash your face and let’s go!” He turned and walked out of the tent.

Torian stood up wobbling, the stiffness in his muscles from the hard sleep he’d had causing flares of pain across his body. He groaned, each step shooting pain up through him straight to his head. He stood at the mirror, looking at the strange blue paste, now dried on his face. He took the washcloth and rubbed it across one of his cheeks. The dried mixture seemed to melt under the water, and as he drew the washcloth down and away his eyes widened. Where there had been jagged, red, weeping cuts now shown with a bright, white, almost iridescent scar, lifted off of his skin, the paleness of the scar causing it to stand out on his sun darkened skin. He quickly washed the other cheek, smiling broadly when it too had a new beautiful scar, declaring who he was. He looked down at his hand, the ring still clenched there, stayed with him through the night.

_Who I am. Who I will be._

“Torian!” Corridan yelled through the flap of the tent, his voice threatening.

“Coming!” he jumped up, stopping, sorry he’d moved so fast—if only they had a tincture for all of the other issues he was having—but he was glad he had fallen asleep fully dressed, looking down at his blood stained shirt, quickly throwing it off and grabbing one of Corridan’s as he rushed out of the tent, putting the new shirt on as he ran. The shirt was a little big, so he tried to tuck it into his pants, having to slow down from the pain radiating through his body from running.

Corridan slowed down, seeming to understand, and less impatient now that they could see the meeting circle ahead. He walked as quickly as he could through the pain, his eyes widening when he saw all of the people already gathered, the loud noises growing silent as he walked through them to sit where Corridan had pointed—up front. He glanced around, feeling like everyone was looking at him, and then realized he wasn’t wrong, they were definitely looking at him.

He sat down quickly, leaning over to Corridan, whispering, “What did I do?”

“Don’t be stupid—you didn’t do anything,” he laughed, looking at Torian, gesturing to his cheeks, “they look great.” Torian nodded, and then looked at the platform a few feet away when Corridan gestured there.

The man and woman who had been there with him last night, who helped him, were standing on the platform. The man was wearing ornate armor, bands of gold across his chest, he looked much larger than Torian remembered, and formidable, and a little savage—a small grin playing at his lips when his eyes landed on Torian. The woman was there, and she was wearing complimentary armor in the same colors and design of her husband. She looked like the fiercest, most breathtaking warrior he’d ever seen. She winked at him when she noticed him.

“Why didn’t you tell me who they were?” Torian hissed at Corridan, squeezing the ring in his hand.

Corridan looked at him, his eyes lit with amusement, “You didn’t need to know.”

Torian cursed softly, making Corridan laugh, then whispered, “Don’t ever do that again, if I am in the home of the leader of our clan and his wife, I need to know it. I didn’t even take my shoes off!”

Corridan reached his arm around Torian, slapping his hand around his shoulder, pulling him closer as he leaned his head down to him, “Okay, if you ever get the osik beat out of you again, and I need to take you to my Aunt and Uncle’s home who _happen_ to be the Clan leaders, then I _promise_ I will make sure you know so you can take your damn _shoes off,_ Torian.”

“K'uur, di'kut!” Torian grumbled, breathing through the pain from his sharp movement to pitch Corridan’s arm off of him.

“That explains why you have your own private tent,” Torian mumbled.

Corridan laughed, muttering, “Why did you think I had my own tent?”

Torian shrugged, not really having thought much about it before. His eyes were drawn to look to the back of the crowd, the sounds bubbling up, as the people parted, allowing someone to pass through.

His eyes went wide when he saw Jogo and the three other boys being led down to the front by their fathers.

“Pare! What’s going on Cor?”

“Shh!” Corridan’s eyes were nearly popping out of his head, looking at the boys as they walked across the area to stand in front of the clan leader, “Osi'kyr! Torian, you beat the living hell out of them!”

He grabbed Torian’s head, smacking his into it, “Oya!”

Torian nodded, rubbing his forehead, completely confused about what was happening here. The crowd was loud, and restless and when he glanced around all of the people were looking at him—all of them seeming to smile, or nod at him.

Everyone went silent when the clan leader spoke, “We have gathered here to handle a clan matter.” He walked across the platform to stand in front of the four boys.

“We Mando’ade have a long standing history of brutality, of violence, of victories—we have brought war to every planet we have conquered, we have righted injustices, we have stopped evil, and we raise our hands to the power of our way of life.”

“OYA!”

The crowd shouted back as one, “OYA!”

“We carry ourselves with honor—we have built our way of life around the Resol’nare—what it means to be a Mandalorian. The sacred law gives us our purpose, our reason for doing what we do.”

The woman spoke then, shouting out, her fist flying up in the air, “Education!”

The crowd shouted back a hearty response, fists raised, “Education!”

She continued to shout out the attributes, punctuating each word with her fist, “Armor! Self-Defense! Our Tribe! Our Language! Our leader!”

Each word was met by equal response from the crowd.

“There is a reason our clans are united, not just here in Clan Ordo, but in the collective, all of the tribes united under Mand’alor’s colors—because it is our way of life.”

The leader paced across the stage, “We protect our Tribe, we take care of our own. Our knowledge of combat, our abilities that we hone beginning at birth, are never to be turned on our own unless Mand’alor orders such.”

He stood again in front of the boys and their fathers, “Apart from an order from Mand’alor—to bring harm to another member of our clan is duraanir, raising their hand against a vod, raises their hand against the clan as a whole. Striking another clan member goes against everything we strive to uphold as Mando’ade.”

“These four boys stand accused of breaking our code, of harming one of our own,” his eyes lifted to meet Torian’s wide ones, gesturing to him, “Torian, gedet’ye.”

He wasn’t sure how he did it, how he walked to the platform, how he managed to make the step up to it, and then how he was standing there, completely still, his eyes fixated on his shoes—when everything in him felt like it was going to rattle loose from the nervousness that was threatening to explode.

He heard some muttering, some gasps, people talking about his scars—and he glanced up, looking at Jogo who was staring down at the ground. He couldn’t see him very clearly, but from what he could tell he really had done quite a number on him. He tried to temper the smile that threatened to spill out.

“Torian,” he jumped when the leader said his name, the crowd laughing lightly, his cheeks flaming red, making the symbols there stand out even brighter, “These four boys stand accused of attacking you, of harming you with the intent of marring your person as well as your character. They stand accused of willfully bringing harm to you.” The leader came behind him, turning is body to point Torian to the boys, who were staring at him now—not with the looks he expected, as he thought there would be anger or maybe hatred in their eyes, but that’s not what he saw. He couldn’t be sure what he was reading in their eyes, but it looked almost like remorse.

“What is your plea?”

The boy’s fathers all stepped forward, standing in front of their sons. Torian felt his mouth go dry, knowing that a father could take the place of their child for punishment, and wondered if that was what these fathers were going to do. Jogo’s father moved forward of the others, seeming to speak for all of them, “We present our sons as adults to you, they each have passed their verd'goten and now are accepted into our Clan as Mando’ade.”

The fathers all stepped back to stand behind their son’s again, the boys, all moving nervously.

The man nodded, “So it shall be,” then looked down at the boys, “Your plea?”

Jogo stepped forward, as the eldest of the boys, bowing slightly, “Guilty.” Jogo looked up at Torian, his eyes seemingly sincere, “As according to our tradition, we present ourselves before the offended Clan for their punishment.”

The crowd rustled, a few shouts of rather rude words filling the air, before the leader stopped them with a look.

The leader nodded, turning to Torian, going down on his knee so he was eye to eye with Torian, “Do you know what the penalty is for what these boys have done?”

Torian swallowed the lump in his throat, his hands clasped together behind him, twisting the ring in his hands, “I do.”

Torian hadn’t been taught a whole lot about the traditions and such of the Clans, but other children had whispered things, and he knew that there were only a few punishments for something that breached so far out of the lines like what these boys did. Death. Banishment. Darmanda. Those were the worse he’d heard, and his stomach dropped thinking about them.

“Do you also know that because these actions were directed at your person, that you have the final say in their punishment?”

Torian studied the leader’s eyes, then glanced to look at the four boys, then back to him, nodding.

The leader gestured his arm toward the boys, indicating for Torian to step forward. Torian moved forward a few steps, staring at the boys—they didn’t look so much different than him, not like the monsters they were in the forest—here they were small, even weak looking, broken, and afraid. He understood those feelings.

He turned back to the leader, moving to him, the stones in the ring digging into his palm, whispering as quietly as he could, “They are just children.”

“No, Torian—they are not just children. All four of those boys completed their verd'goten. They are adults now. They acted as adults when they attacked you. It is indefensible for an adult to hurt an adiik.”

Torian nodded, his eyes drifting back to Jogo, then back to meet the leader’s, “They are dishonored now.”

The leader nodded, “Yes.”

“Nothing is worse than that…” Torian shuddered knowing the truth of what he was saying too well, too familiarly, his eyes clenching as the felt the truth wash through him, “death can be a mercy.”

The leader closed his eyes for a moment, then reached out, his hand folding around Torian’s clenched one, “A wise man sees every angle of a situation, he tries to see all of the potential outcomes to his decisions—you are wise to consider every action you could take.”

Torian's eyes moved slowly over the crowd around them and then back to the leader’s eyes, “A clan is the people.” His eyes cast down, the words bubbling up inside of him, “Cadera is still a Clan with only one.” He let his eyes raise to see if the leader disliked that, but he seemed to approve, nodding, “—but I have the chance to grow. Losing members—not just today—ends all of their future lines, too.”

The leader smiled, “Then you choose what as their punishment?”

Torian’s eyes glanced to the four boys again, visibly shaking, one of them was crying audibly, “Can’t do anything worse than they have done to themselves.” He shrugged.

“Then you leave the punishment to the hands of their own?”

Torian contemplated it, knowing that he was being offered great power, and his hand lifted to touch his scar, then took a deep breath, “I trust you.”

The leader nodded, standing up and then putting his hand on Torian’s back to draw him forward to the edge of the platform with him. Standing closer to the four boys, he realized they were all shaking and crying now, one of them was actually sobbing, his entire body shaking violently. His father stood behind him, his face hardened, his arms crossed.

“Clan Cadera has spoken,” the leader’s voice boomed across the crowd and Torian was overwhelmed at the crowd’s cheer when it was said, his clan name, “We know that the traditions of our clans sometimes causes each of us to carry a burden that was not our own to carry—and as such, we each need to be mindful to teach each generation of our Clan members to remember one of our guiding tenets-- Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la.”

The crowd cheered again, the leader speaking louder, “Let us be mindful—ever watchful that we measure each Mando’ade for their own actions—to attempt to leave our prejudice behind.”

“It is a challenge to be sure, but these changes start with one small step—Clan Cadera chooses _mercy_ for their brother Clan.”

The crowd roared, clapping and whooping, and cheering. Torian’s eyes were wide at the response.

Jogo’s father stepped forward, walking to stand in front of Torian—kneeling before him, his head bowed, “By my own honor and that of my name, my family and I will serve as cabur to Clan Cadera, may we ever be tomad.”

The other fathers stepped forward, kneeling as well, saying the same words—Torian shuffled backwards, not sure what he was supposed to do, and overwhelmed by everything all at once, his knees shaking—when the leader’s wife stepped to his side, her hand stopping him from backing up any further, leaning into him, her armor cold on his face as it touched him, she whispered, so softly he could barely hear her over the crowd’s noises, “Haat, ijaa, haa'it.” She handed him a small slip of paper.

He unfolded the paper, reading it quickly and then nodded, understanding on his face, when she pulled him back again, “feel it, deep inside.” Then she pushed him forward gently, the crowd seeming to grow quiet in hopes of hearing whatever he had to say.

He didn’t know where it came from, where the courage, or the voice came from--but he would later attribute it to the light that burned in him, like the one the night before but stronger, filling him up and prodding him forward--when he spoke it didn’t sound afraid or unsure, it sounded like someone who knew where they were going, what they were going to be, but the words were his own, “As the sole representative of Clan Cadera, I affirm it shall so be,” and each of the following words sounded like thunder in the air, “HAAT!”, the crowd shouted it back to him, “IJAA!”, the crowd responded, “HAA’IT!” and with that the crowd seemed for all intents and purposes to lose their minds completely—slapping their fists against their armor, and shouting words Torian didn’t understand. He shook his head, unsure about how all of these formalities were going to lead to anything other than a cause to have a huge feast with lots of drinking.

Jogo’s father stood, his hand grabbing Torian’s, shaking it firmly, “Thank you, Cadera.”

Torian nodded, his eyes looking past the father to Jogo who was still sniffing, his eyes red with tears, his expression seeming to be one of confusion. Torian nodded at him, understanding. None of this made any sense. He nodded back.

Torian winced when the hand slapped his back, turning to see Corridan who leaned over bumping his head into his. Telling him without words how proud he was of him.

“Let’s go eat before all the others get there and take all the good stuff!”

Torian nodded, starting to walk away, when he heard the leader call his name—he gestured for Corridan to wait a moment, stepping to the leader who sat in a nearby chair, his eyes level with Torian’s.

He pointed to Torian’s cheeks, “I like them.”

Torian nodded, sincerity lacing his tone, “Thank you.”

“You represented your Clan well today, Torian. I don’t know where our travels will take us, or when we may talk again—but I want to make sure you know something about today, and every day that you live beyond this…”

Torian stared at the man’s eyes, somehow knowing in his heart that this was vital, this was important. No one helped him, there was no one to give him a boost up, and this man, a great and capable leader was willing to give him advice—he was going to remember it.

“The rest of your life, every day should be spent with a distinct goal, Torian. That goal is to live up to the person these symbols say you are. They will be as a banner before an army—speaking boldly to others—you made the decision to make this your identity—now you have to believe it—you have to live it—be it.”

“I will,” he meant it, he would.

“Good,” the leader put his hand on each of his cheeks, pulling him forward and kissing the top of his head, “Make Clan Cadera great again.”

The leader stood then, walking off the platform into the crowd around him, Torian’s eyes followed him, until he disappeared among all of the people.

“Torian!’ he turned looking for Corridan, spotting him off to the side, gesturing him to follow. He made his way to him, slowly, the injuries taking a toll on him.

“You okay?” his friend stopped, letting him catch his breath.

Torian nodded, smiling, starting to walk slowly to the feast, “Cor—I’m gonna make Clan Cadera something to be proud of. Don’t know how, don’t know when—but I am. Gonna make Clan Cadera great again.”

Corridan nodded, “I believe you will, vod.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY for this chapter, although while I hate it I also ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT!
> 
> Though my emotions about this chapter are muddled, what is absolute fact is how much I adore each and every one of YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <3
> 
> * * *
> 
> Translations:
> 
> aruetii [ah-roo-AY-tee] traitor, foreigner, outsider
> 
> Oya manda! [OY-ah-MAN-dah] Expression of Mandalorian solidarity and perpetuity: emotional and assertive.
> 
> verd [VAIRD] warrior
> 
> kot oya'karir [koht OY-ya-KAR-eer] strength for the hunt
> 
> arue'tal [ah-roo-TAHL] traitor's blood
> 
> beskar'gam [BES-kar-GAM] armor made of Mandalorian iron
> 
> skanah [SKAH-nah] much-hated thing or person
> 
> hut'uun [hoo-TOON] coward (worst possible insult)
> 
> Nu draar [Noo DRAR] No way. Absolutely not. Never in a million years. Not on your life. (Emphatic disagreement and doubt. Lit: Not never. Mandos use double negatives for emphasis.)
> 
> buir [boo-EER] father, mother
> 
> gedetir [geh-DET-eer] plead, beg
> 
> ik'aad [EE-kad] baby, child under 3
> 
> Gev! [gehv] Stop it! Pack it in!
> 
> Haar'chak! [HAR-chak] Damn it!
> 
> demagolka [deh-mah-GOHL-kah] someone who commits atrocties, a real-life monster, a war criminal - from the notorious Mandalorian scientist of the Old Republic, Demagol, known for his experiments on children, and a figure of hate and dread in the Mando psyche
> 
> riduur [REE-door] partner, spouse, husband, wife
> 
> mandokar [MAN-doh-KAR] the *right stuff*, the epitome of Mando virtue - a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life
> 
> Ret'urcye mhi [ray-TOOR-shay-MEE] Goodbye - lit. *Maybe we'll meet again*
> 
> verd'goten [vaird-GOH-ten] name of the traditional rite of passage in Mandalorian culture in which a Mandalorian youth was accepted as an adult--literally warrior birth
> 
> osik [OH-sik] dung (impolite)
> 
> K'uur, di'kut! [Koor DEE-koot] Shut up, idiot!
> 
> Pare! [PAH-ray] Hang on! Wait!
> 
> Osi'kyr! [OH-see-KEER] Strong exclamation of surprise
> 
> Resol'nare [RAY-sol NAH-ray] Six Actions, the tenets of Mando life
> 
> duraanir [doo-RAHN-eer] scorned, held in contempt
> 
>  
> 
> dar'manda [dar-MAHN-da] a state of not being Mandalorian - not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and his soul - regarded with absolute dread by most traditionall-minded Mando'ade
> 
> adiik [AH-deek] child aged 3 to 13
> 
> Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la. [Gar Tal-DEEN nee jah-OHn-eesh, gar sa BOO-eer OH-ree-wah-DAHS-la.] *Nobody cares who your father was, only the father you'll be.* (Lit: Bloodline is not important, but you as a father are the most valuable thing.) Mando saying emphasising the importance of a father's role, and that a man is judged more by that than his lineage.
> 
> cabur [KAH-boor] guardian, protector
> 
> tomad [toh_MAHD] ally
> 
> Haat, ijaa, haa'it [Haht-i-JAH-hah-EET] Truth, honor, vision - words used to seal a pact.
> 
> Haat [haht] truth
> 
> ijaa [i-JAH] honor
> 
> haa'it [hah-EET] vision


	8. Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: This chapter contains violence.
> 
> A special note about MANDALORIAN ONLY chapters:
> 
> The resol'nare, or Six Actions, defines what a Mandalorian does.
> 
> 4\. "I will always speak Mando'a to other Mandalorians." The Mandalorian language, Mando'a, is one of the most important things that sets the Mandalorians apart from other groups.
> 
> SO...while I absolutely REFUSE to make my readers struggle through and ENTIRE chapter with every single piece of dialogue translated into Mando'a--please know that these exclusively Mandalorian chapters--these people ARE speaking in Mando'a. Every word. Every action. Every thought. It is as basic to them as breathing. So, I add words for emphasis cause I love to do that, but the truth of this chapter and the next is ALL of the words are in Mando'a.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> So, since I destroyed you all emotionally with a baby Torian being bullied last chapter--I thought I would try to limit the overall angst this time. Enter...Corridan. ENJOY!
> 
> If you REALLY want to enjoy this chapter you need to set the following song on repeat through the entire chapter while you read it hahaha Cause, seriously, when I read it, that's ALL I HEAR now, and there's this one part, that is just so emotional if you have the song playing and you're like me and see the story in your head as you read you are gonna be jumping up and down in your seat haha
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKGwgEqMxMQ
> 
> You can hold your cursor over any of the Mando'a/Non-Basic words in the story and the pronunciation and explanation will pop up for you! I haven't tested this on mobile yet, but it works on the computer!
> 
> In case that doesn't work: Chapter 8 Translations: For those who don't like to wait til the end to know what the non-english words mean (like me!) This works especially well if you open it in another window so you can just click back and forth to see the translations as you hit the words. (Right click and say "open in new tab")
> 
> WARNING: Contains spoilers of course!
> 
> Translations: http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/post/149826237366/the-pages-between-chapter-8-finally
> 
> Chapter Playlist: Only one song...really this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKGwgEqMxMQ
> 
> I know, there are SO MANY NOTES HERE! I'm sorry haha
> 
> Videos on my youtube channel to make you smile and a drabble here on AO3 that is from this story but isn't directly written for it--if that makes sense haha
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/7817929/chapters/17842813
> 
> HUGGLES!!

* * *

Raeyn's heart was beating out of her chest, and her hands were sweating. She could feel a bead of perspiration sliding down the side of her face from her temple. Her hair felt like it was heavy on her head, her feet like they were filled with lead. Her tummy was twisted up inside and it felt like her legs were jellly. She clenched her hands to her side, then awkwardly folded them across her chest, trying to make them be still, to hold them, stop them from reaching out and grabbing Torian.  

They had just loaded his father's carbonite sealed body onto a transport—Mako and Gault were standing a short distance away trying to inconspicuously not appear to be watching, which was a complete failure but she was too shaken to care. She didn't know what she was supposed to do. What she was supposed to say. Torian had packed up his gear and was walking toward her to head back to his camp—to head off into wherever the Mandalorians were going next. Away from her. 

 _Please, no._  

She closed her eyes hard, willing herself to keep it together. 

"I wanted to just say...I..." Torian was so close to her, she could just step forward and she'd be in his bubble, she shifted her feet, willing them to not move toward him, his voice was so soft, like he was testing the air around them, different than his normal manner that spoke of years of training—and she knew, she felt the atmosphere—it was violent, roiling with her emotions, and she didn't want this to be what he remembered from being close to her, his voice was shaking when he spoke again, "I mean....Thank you, Champion." 

He nodded his head, tipping his eyes to the ground between them, and she wanted to scream, "You're welcome, stay with me forever!" But instead the word she spoke was soft and small, "Anytime." 

He looked at her then, his mouth twisting as if he were weighing words...and then he just nodded curtly, his body swaying lightly, and then he went rigid like a soldier drawn to attention and he turned and walked away.  

Every step he took away from her made her buckle a little, her shoulders beginning to drop down, hands wrapping around herself, trying to hold herself together. It hurt. It felt like something was being pulled from her body, ripped through her skin. Her mind was frenzied, her soul was screaming. When he was twenty feet away she felt his eyes on her, he'd glanced back and she nodded her head once sharply, turning away before he could see the tear that slowly rolled down her face.   

 

* * *

 

Torian had been sitting on the ground staring at the fire for several hours, his mind a mangled mess of thoughts, feelings, and pictures he couldn’t get rid of now. Today he had killed his aruetyc buir, the man who had left both him and his mother to die at the hands of _his_ enemy. He had thought that after he had finally finished the one thing in his life that he had been waiting for, it would fix the empty feeling in him—bring closure—but so far it hadn’t. So far he felt the same, and there was a gnawing feeling of uncertainty in the pit of his stomach that just wasn’t there before.  

When he had returned to camp that night, he wasn’t exactly surprised no one noticed—and he was glad to not have to face all of them—like he’d told Raeyn, he just really needed to be alone to think—though he couldn't explain why walking away from her had been so painful. He did want to be alone, he needed to figure all of this out, and he couldn't do it with her there. He was glad for the cover of the Clan. He’d spent most of his life trying to blend in and stay below the radar—and that suited him just fine today, since being invisible was not a hard thing given the size of Clan Ordo these days.  

He’d went as far outside of camp as he felt he could without ending up with unwanted attention from local patrolling soldiers or wildlife. He’d made a fire and spent the evening just listening to the noises it made, as night fell the added symphony of all of the world around it trying to give him a soothing sound—except he couldn’t quite process everything that had happened, and he needed to understand why everything felt so...wrong. 

He grunted, “Alor’ad”, in greeting when Corridan sat on the ground beside him, not looking at Torian as he began tossing a few twigs into the fire. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

Torian considered that, staring at a dancing flame as he thought it through… _do I_ _want to talk about it?_   

“Not sure yet,” he replied, deciding the truth of his confusion would be the right thing to share. 

“Look, I’m not here to get you to talk about your _feelings_ ,” Corridan laughed lightly, tossing more sticks at the fire, “Force knows, I know better than that…It’s just…” Corridan grabbed a stick out of the fire, tapping it sharply on the ground in front of him, sparks falling around it. 

“Vod…seriously,” Corridan threw the stick back into the fire, turning his body toward Torian, “I just think it needs to be said out loud. This wasn’t some ordinary situation—I don’t know anyone else in the history of our people who has done what you had to do—honor be damned.” 

“I mean, hell, you had to hunt and kill your own father—and there’s no way—not me, or anyone else here—maybe anywhere could know what that feels like. I’m not about to pretend I do. But…I can tell something powerful happened out there—and you don’t owe me a single bit of it—but if you do want to spill it—you know…just, I’m here.” 

Torian turned slowly to look at Corridan, his face impassive, “Laandur, thought you said we weren’t talking about _feelings_?” 

“Shabuir!” Corridan reached over and smacked Torian across the back of his head, laughing when Torian reached up to rub his head. 

“Ow,” Torian looked at him, laughing lightly, “Thanks. Really.” 

Corridan nodded, knowing Torian well enough to know that there was a lot said between the lines. He kicked his legs out, laying down on the ground, propping his head up on his hands, staring up at the stars. 

There were faint noises from around the camp—a few people still up and stirring—most already tucked in so that they would be ready for tomorrow’s orders. Mand’alor had sent word they would have a new destination in the morning. 

 _A new place to go do the same things._  

Torian folded his arms across his knees, laying his head down on them, staring at the flames—getting lost in the way the colors swayed and flowed in the light wind around them. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed, when Corridan stretched beside him, yawning loudly. 

“S’pose I’m gonna head to the barracks—unless you had anything you wanted to…maybe…talk about?” 

Torian looked over at him, truthfully, his only friend. The friend that protected him, and after the day he got his scars, never let anyone even look at him sideways. The only friend he’d ever had—truth be told, Torian didn’t have any memory as far back as he could remember that didn’t have Corridan in it. He was someone who saw past the labels that he lived with since he was old enough to understand that the word the other kids called him growing up was actually a brand that would never leave him, not as long as his father was alive. 

“Gehat'ik osik'la,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear the confusion away, “He wasn’t…not what I expected.” 

He shrugged, “Fought us, hard, was still strong—meant to kill him that way, in the battle—‘cept he stopped—he laid his weapon down.” 

Corridan shifted to sit up, his eyes wide, “What?” 

“Knew me. Heard my name, from the other hunter, and knew me.” 

“Damn.” 

“Said Mand’alor had promised to kill me. Said that he thought it was true. Told him I wished he had sometimes.” 

“Vod…” 

“You know it’s true.” 

“I know.” 

“In the end—he let me speak my mind.” 

Torian looked up at the sky for a moment, gathering his thoughts. 

Corridan whispered, “And…did you?” 

“Yes.” 

He took in a shuddering breath realizing no matter how the words came out or how long he took to speak them, there was no easy way to get past it. 

“Called him dar'manda, right to his face. Told him he stripped our clan of our honor, destroyed me in the process—Mando’ade without honor is worthless. Said what I had waited my whole life to say. Was there to take back the honor he stole, from me, from the Cadera name.” 

Corridan sat completely still, his mind trying to imagine the scene—realizing that this was a horrific moment in Torian’s life, not the healing, cathartic one that he had always imagined for his friend.   
   
Torian’s voice shook, pulling in a ragged breath, “Told me I was wrong, that I never should have worn my name in shame, said he understood and he was ready to die, not because Mand’alor demanded it, but because he knew it was what would give me my life back.” 

“Told me….” He took a deep breath, “if he’d known I was alive he would have already come. Would have given himself up, so I could have my honor,” he whispered the words, “I….almost walked away.” 

Corridan sat still, knowing that he wasn’t finished with the story yet.  

“At the end, told me ‘Gar taldin ni jaonyc, gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la’, was serious, said to find my life, my path, that I needed to bring Clan Cadera back into the fold. Wanted to know if I had taken Ordo as my name. Smiled when I told him no.” 

“And then….I just…I told him…I would, I’d figure out my way—that I would do our name proud—because his death wasn’t going to be worthless. Did what I had to do—fulfilling the promise—wasn’t what I thought it would be.” 

He tossed a rock beside him into the fire, tiny little embers spitting out around the base, “Thought I would feel some….relief, or peace—all I am left with is confusion.” 

He reached up, his hands going into his hair, leaning his head down, growling, “I’m alone now, there is no other left, the only other Cadera is dead, by my own hand.” 

Corridan grunted, he understood what Torian was saying, “Ner vod, you are alone only in name, not spirit.” 

Torian nodded, not looking up, “Used to feel like enough, Cor, it doesn’t anymore, not now.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“I’m not a member of your clan,” he locked eyes with Corridan, challenging, “Never have been, not really—you knew that, but never said it out loud.” 

“You are my vod,” Corridan said, his voice sharp, “I don’t care what anyone else thinks! You’re right, you never have been an Ordo—because everyone knew you were going to be more, more than just a name absorbed into another clan to be lost in the stories. You’ve _always_ been more than that!” 

Torian grunted, the best he could do as his throat was thick with emotion from the words Corridan had spoken. 

“What you don’t know is that if you had offered to take our name, no one would have let you. Mand’alor himself would have stopped it—haven’t you ever wondered why you were spared?” 

Torian looked at Corridan, unsure. He really hadn’t ever thought about it. He knew that there were other members of his clan, all killed, even his mother, but he really hadn’t wondered how or why he was not. 

“Mand’alor had a visionary visit him, when he was waging war—when he’d already sent a clan to kill your people—and that person told Mand’alor something that convinced him that you needed to be saved. He sent you here, to Clan Ordo—his orders clear—keep you safe—I know there were other things too, that Mand’alor told them about how you were to be raised, but I wasn’t privy to them then and haven’t thought about it since.” 

Torian considered this, remembering how the story about his mother had included someone convincing her to take him to Mand’alor, his mother protecting him by allowing Mand’alor to take him. Was it all really true? 

“You’ve lived your life in darkness, you’ve hid away—you didn’t want people to see you, not even with the truth right there all over your face—mandokarla—and you know what? That was fine, good when you were young and couldn’t handle the truth, but today, right now—you need to know— _Mand’alor_ _believed it_. Don’t ask me why, I mean it’s not like any of us are especially spiritual—but whatever this visionary told him, showed him, he was _damn well convinced_.” 

Torian grunted. 

“Now YOU need to be convinced, Jicoln told you the _truth_ _,_ for once in his miserable life—he said the truth. You are meant for more than being a shadow in Clan Ordo. Your path isn’t here, isn’t to be snuffed out by us—but to walk a different path—one you have to make for yourself—and now, _nothing_ is stopping you.” 

“You’re _free_ , Tor,” Corridan reached over, his hand resting on the back of Torian’s head, moving down to his neck, pulling him forward to knock heads with him, “Finally, you can choose what you want, how you want to live, rebuild your clan, and do what you were _meant to do_.” 

Torian’s hand came up to clasp Corridan’s head, “I don’t even know where to start.” 

Corridan laughed, his hand still holding Torian to him, “Vod, no one knows that—I think we're all just putting one foot in front of the other and hoping for the best most of the time. Whether it’s on the surface or somewhere deep inside of us—we are unsure, not clear on what the best course is—but we are Mando’ade—and that means that we move past our uncertainties, use the unknown to fuel the power inside of us.” 

His hand came up, tapping on the scar on Torian’s cheek, “You remember what you said to me the day after you got those?” 

Torian nodded, unable to speak the memory flashing in his eyes, the pain still having a hold deep inside of him despite his age.  

“You said to me that you were going to make Clan Cadera something to be proud of, make it great again.” 

Torian nodded, remembering well. 

“Tor, you can’t do that inside of Clan Ordo,” Corridan released Torian’s neck, leaning back from him, stretching his legs back out, glancing up at the stars. 

“Well, maybe I should rephrase that,” Corridan’s tone was teasing, “You certainly _could_ rebuild your clan from the fertile soils of Clan Ordo, but you won’t even look at any of the women who are trying to get your attention.” 

Torian shrugged, his mind picturing Raeyn instantly, “None of them are the right girl, that’s all.” 

Corridan huffed, “Osi'kyr! Torian, you don’t have to marry them, you can just have some fun—I don’t know when you became such a cin'runi.” 

“Not cin'runi,” Torian mumbled, his hand moving into the pocket hidden inside his glove, his finger running across the stones of the ring hidden there.  

“Dreams don’t count,” Corridan laughed, nudging him with his foot. 

Torian didn’t even look at him, shoving his foot away, looking at the fire. 

Corridan shifted, sitting up, “Hey, you never told me who you hunted with—you said that someone else was there helping you track Jicoln, right?” 

Torian cut his eyes over to his friend, narrowing slightly, “Yes.” 

Corridan shook his head, shrugging his shoulders, “So…who joined your hunt? Why were they there?” 

Torian’s eyes were fixed on Corridan, who was feeling more and more out of sorts—the air around them felt tense and charged suddenly and he was having a hard time understanding what was happening. He drew his hands up gesturing for Torian to talk, confused about why he was hesitant in the first place. 

“The Grand Champion.” 

Corridan roared, jumping up to his feet, “"Wayii! Are you kidding me? Why didn’t you tell me the second you got back here, you or'dinii?” 

“Knew you’d make a big deal about it,” Torian responded, glancing back up at him where he was standing practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet. He gestured his hand up and down toward Corridan, “Wasn’t wrong.” 

“Tell me everything, tell me, I have to know! What did she act like? Was she a good hunter? Could she fight? Like really fight?” 

Torian rolled his eyes, huffing, “She acted like a hunter, exceptionally skilled, fought according to her skills, and yes, was named the Grand Champion, she _really_ fought.” 

Corridan plopped down next to Torian, disappointed. Then his eyes drifted over to Torian, taking in his posture, the way his shoulders were drawn up and tense, the way his hand was digging into his glove to touch the ring, the tone his voice held—defensive. 

“I’m a damn utreekov!” 

“I’m glad you figured it out—go to bed.” 

“You like her.” 

Torian laid back on the grass, his hands under his head as a pillow looking up at the starry sky. 

“Damn. You really like her if you aren’t fighting me about it. What’s her name again? Xaraeyn? Is that it?” 

He waited. The silence stretching out.  

He leaned over Torian, slapping his cheek, “I can do this all night, Vod, and you know it.” 

Torian let out a slow breath, “If I tell you _something_ will you please go to bed and leave me alone? I’m tired, and you’re a  mir'sheb.” 

“Not gonna make any promises.” 

Torian weighed the chances that he would actually leave, considering it worth the possibility, “She goes by Raeyn, not Xaraeyn and when I realized it was her…well, I tried to be clever…” 

“Oh, hell.” 

“Exactly. Cornered her and her partner, thought I caught them off guard.” 

“Okay.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“….”  

Corridan practically screeched, “Oh, screw this! You aren’t going to tell me that’s the _whole_ story.” 

Torian shrugged, laughing at the way it looked like Corridan’s head was going to pop right off of his shoulders. 

“She took me down, in like…two seconds. I mean…flat out on my back, her foot right damn well—here!” He took his hand and slapped it on his chest, “her blaster pointed at my head and her idiot partner mouthing off about how she must like me because she didn’t kill me.” 

Corridan’s eyes were narrowed, staring at the spot on Torian’s chest. Torian tried to figure out if he was okay, when he suddenly burst out, “How the hell did she take you down? I’ve never taken you down, and I know all of your moves! I _taught_ you most of your moves!” 

Torian laughed, he wasn’t wrong…Corridan had never successfully taken him down—a long running burden in their friendship.  

“Seriously, you have to tell me.” 

Torian spoke lightly, trying to minimize the words, “Just said she was eager to see me after Dromond Kaas.” 

He thought Corridan might be having a heart attack, his hand clenching at his chest, his mouth opening and closing rapidly. He was considering slapping him when he burst out, “Osi’kyr! Osi’kyr! You LIKE her.” 

Torian wanted to deny it, but there was no point, no one knew him better than Corridan, and he wasn’t good at lying. At all. 

Corridan sat back down next to Torian, his voice reverent, “You _like_ her.” 

Torian turned his head to look at him, “Yes.” 

“Like, like-like or like--- _like_ \- like?” 

Torian’s hand flew up smacking Corridan in the back of the head, hard, “Could you be less stupid, gedet’ye?” 

Corridan rubbed the back of his head, looking pointedly at Torian. 

“ _Like_ -like. Now shut up and go to bed.” 

Corridan’s eyes were so wide it looked like they could pop right out, “Wait, wait,” he started moving his body back and forth with excitement, “ _like_ -like—as in, murey'lin kinda like.” 

“Rangir!” Torian stood up so quick he knocked Corridan backward, he was laughing, sprawled out on the ground. 

“Don’t be mad, don’t leave, please, I’ll be good,” He let out a long squeal, laughing, “You can’t blame me for hoping you might get some action so maybe you’d loosen up a little bit. I think you’d be _a lot_ more pleasant, and there’s no denying she’s hot…I mean did you even see how she…” 

The words caught in Corridan’s throat as he noted the way Torian’s body had tensed, his entire countenance changed from one of teasing banter to one of confrontation. Torian pointed his finger at Corridan, “I will hurt you if you talk about her like that again.” His tone was absolute, “I’m leaving now.” 

“Good! Yes!” Corridan shouted at him, laughing, “That was the whole damn point!” 

Torian stopped, groaning as he ran his hand down his face, turning to look at Corridan where he was still laying on the ground next to the fire, “Explain.” 

“I’ve been your friend since you were born, we have fought side by side, through thick and thin, and I _know_ you, Tor—I’ve studied you, and seriously, I have actually PAID women to try to seduce you, and nothing—no spark, no light, certainly no response from yo…” 

Torian interrupted him, “You PAID women to do _what_ _!_?” 

Corridan made a loud shrill noise, “You’re focusing on the wrong part of the conversation—the point I'm trying to make is I knew when we saw her on Dromond Kaas that you liked her. Everything about you was different, has been different.” He shrugged, “I don’t know how I can see it so clearly, when you can’t.” 

Torian stared at him, considering what he was saying in light of the feelings inside of himself. 

“You went after Jicoln because you wanted to be someone that deserved _her_ , you can’t even deny it, cause I know it’s the truth,” Corridan stood up, walking to where Torian was still standing, thinking. 

“Your path, the one you’ve been looking for since you were seven? It’s not _here_ , Vod.” 

Torian studied him, his expression blank, not giving anything away, not speaking. 

 _“It’s her.”_  

Something about his words rang true, but at the same time, Corridan was an incorrigible idiot who didn’t know the first thing about relationships or how they worked—so his advice didn’t carry a great deal of weight.  

“There was this….feeling, don’t know how to explain it…” Torian struggled trying to think of how to describe what happened that day when she was named ‘Grand Champion’, words to explain what the additional time spent with her made him feel, “It’s like…she can…like she could read my soul. Like she knows me, even though we just met.” 

He shrugged, knowing it didn’t make any sense at all, “Feels like I know her, too. Like I always knew her—was waiting for her.” 

He shuffled his feet, looking down at the ground, shaking his head, “It’s stupid, I’m heading to my bunk.” 

“No.” 

Torian looked up at Corridan who had his hands on his hips, “No, you aren’t. You are going to the spaceport and you are going to find that woman’s ship and you are going to tell her how you feel.” 

Torian scoffed, “I am not.” 

“The hell you aren’t,” Corridan stood up to his full height, “You are, even if I have to drag your ass there.” 

 “Like to see you try,” Torian raised an eyebrow in a challenge. 

The words had barely left his mouth when Corridan charged into him, his shoulder making contact with Torian’s chest, throwing him five feet backward, his body skidding across the dirt from the momentum. 

“What the hell, Cor…” He whipped his head up when he felt his foot being lifted, looking at Corridan who was dragging him by his leg, “What are you _doing_?” 

“What I said I would do, you damn idiot,” he had managed to drag Torian several yards at this point, “She’s still here. I'm part of the crew tasked to get Jicoln from her to take to Mand’alor. We meet her at eight in the morning.” 

Torian was nearly hysterical, throwing his hands up in the air, as Corridan continued to drag him across the ground, “SO!?” 

“So—you’re gonna be there—and it’s gonna take me all night to drag you there!” 

Torian’s face went blank, then suddenly his other leg flew up, twisting his body, connecting with Corridan’s arm, knocking him backward, turning to get on his knees to stand up. His breath whooshed out of him when Corrdidan’s arms came around his neck, landing on his back. 

“You’re going!” 

Torian growled, pitching himself backward, landing on top of Corridan, who was reaching around him trying to hold him down, his legs flailing, reaching to wrap around one of Torian’s, managing to get leverage, lifting himself up and folding Torian’s body in half, holding his neck down. 

“I can do this _all night_.” 

Torian bucked backward, his head smacking Corridan in the chin, sending his line of vision skyward, as Torian shifted, his foot landing right in the middle of Corridan’s chest, spinning him back away from him. 

Torian turned to walk away, making it about eight feet before Corridan flew across the space between them, landing with a crash into Torian’s back, his arm around his neck holding his head straight up, his words harsh in his ear, “You’re going!” 

He’d barely finished the last syllable when Torian shifted his center of gravity forward, his arms coming up to grab Corridan’s head, tipping over quickly, pitching Corridan onto his back. He leaned over him, now lying on his back looking up at him, upside down, “I’m not.” 

He took a step forward, his foot coming straight down on Corridan’s chest, the air making a sharp noise as it was forced from his lungs, somehow managing to speak through the breath, “The hell you aren’t!” 

His hands reached up to grab Torian’s foot, yanking on it and rolling as he began the fall, clearing most of his sprawling appendages, Torian’s knee hitting him in the shin. Torian was trying to get up, making it to his hands and knees before Corridan used the distance between them to get enough weight behind him to pounce on Torian’s back, his feet dug into the dirt for leverage—pressing him down to the ground, his elbow pressing into Torian’s neck, holding him still.  

Torian growled, his face smashed into the hard dirt under him, he waited, stilled, conserving his energy—Corridan leaned over him, “What are you? Stupid? You like her! Deal with it!” 

He yelped when Torian twisted his body, rising up under him, his elbow slamming into his throat, twisting his torso to land his fist across Corridan’s jaw. 

Corridan grabbed his leg, wrapping himself around it, Torian shook his leg, both of his arms gesturing to Corridan’s ridiculous position, “Seriously?” 

“Vod, I understand the not knowing, I get it, I really do, but you can’t hide here forever.” 

Torian leaned over, growling, his fist slamming into Corridan’s cheek, his head flying sideways, but his body still tight around his leg. 

“That’s what you are doing Tor, you are hiding in this clan!” 

He ducked when the fist came flying at him again, glancing off the side of his head, “You are no arue'tal, never been, hell, you are the craziest bravest Mando’ade I have ever seen in my life. You run forward when the world—screw that, when Mando'ade runs away!” 

Torian tipped backward in a calculated drop, hitting the ground, then his other foot flying up, kicking Corridan’s chin, “Son of a…that HURT!” 

“Meant to,” Torian hissed at him, his leg shooting out again, Corridan grabbing it before it made contact, twisting it, Torian’s eyes widening as he realized if he didn’t roll with him, he might end up with a broken leg. 

“Damn it,” he threw himself into the roll, his hand grabbing Corridan’s hair trying to get him to break loose. 

“Stop fighting like _your_ _girl_ , Raeyn,” Corridan’s hands were clawing at Torian’s trying to loosen his grip. 

“You kadas'ika!” Torian hissed, his fist flying forward striking Corridan’s mouth straight on, “She’d already have kicked your ass—twice!” 

“Oh, _your girl_ is that good, huh?” Corridan spit the blood that pooled in his mouth on the ground beside him. 

“She’s better than either of us,” Torian muttered, looking around for something to hit Corridan with to get him off of his leg, looking back down at him, “Especially you.”  

“Bevagol!” Corridan spun onto his side and back, twisting with his leg sweeping sideways, his boot slamming square across Torian’s face, “Aw, hell, you’re gonna have a black eye when you see her tomorrow!” 

The blow had sent Torian flying sideways, rolling down the slope they were on, until he ended up on his back. Corridan threw himself down the hill after him. Torian was breathing heavy, lying flat on the ground with Corridan sprawled out across him, his legs digging into the dirt to keep him pinned down, his shoulder dug into Torian’s chest, “Get off me.” 

“No.” 

“Not kidding,” Torian hissed his breath labored, “Move.” 

“No.” 

“Haar'chak!” 

Torian’s knee popped up, as he curled his body in, landing in the middle of Corridan’s back, he rolled as Corridan shifted, then moved around to get his arm around his neck, pulled up on his knees, pulling Corridan backward. 

“We’re done.” 

Their breath was loud and heavy, Torian didn’t loosen his pressure on his neck, knowing full well, that as soon as he moved his arm even an inch Corridan would respond. 

“Tor,” Corridan, huffed, “you can’t stay here.” He tried to take a deeper breath, “Not if you expect to bring your Clan back.” 

“Shut up!” 

“Everything that was stopping you is gone,” Corridan’s body shuddered as he finally gathered a full breath, “There’s nothing left to keep you from taking what you want, except you, and the thing you want the most—it’s right there at that spaceport.” 

Torian’s arm tightened around his throat, a silent protest. Corridan exploded, “I swear to all….you know what? That’s IT!”  

Torian couldn’t react, so fast were Corridan’s movements, and before he could even comprehend how it had happened, Corridan had reversed the position, slamming him down to the ground, pulling one of his arms back behind his back, pressing his knee down into his shoulder blades, leaning his full weight on him. 

He couldn’t take a good breath, so he couldn’t make a sound, a small wheezing noise coming out through his mouth. 

Corridan bounced on him, a strange groan coming out of Torian, Corridan leaned down to his head, “You’re gonna damn well listen to me. I know you’ve never been alone. Not really—you have spent your whole life in Clan Ordo— _feelin_ g alone—but you weren’t. But you can’t keep hiding,” Torian bucked when he said the word, “You think you haven’t been hiding, Vod?” 

Torian went wild under him, his entire body alight with fury, somehow getting his arm under himself to pitch Corridan off, scrambling over to him, landing with his knee on his chest, seething, “My father was _hiding_. I don’t _hide_!” 

Corridan stared at Torian, a play of emotions moving across his friend’s face, until suddenly it crumbled, his head dropping down, “He hid all of these years, but then he stood there, with his son holding a blaster to his head, and gave me peace to do what I had to do.” 

He tipped backward, resting on his heels, his hands reaching up to pull his hair, “How can I be a leader of my Clan? What do I even know about being a leader? What? The little bit the prior clan leader taught me in the fifteen minutes I was with him? How do I take the first step away from here to there? How do I be as sure as he was about the right thing to do next?” 

Corridan sat up then, trying to get a deep breath, “Wait, wait, are you…you are comparing yourself to your buir?” 

Torian shrugged, figuring it made sense. 

“Vod, that’s complete and utter osik!” Corridan shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts, his mind a little muddled from a few of the blows, “Wayii! There are people to admire, there are people to emulate—but your buir, I’m sorry, but he’s not one of them—and it’s not because of the war, it’s not even because of Mand’alor.” 

“What?” 

“He ran away, he stayed away, he hid—he didn’t have courage, and I call foul on the idea that he knew what the right thing to do was—he was _afraid_ to face the consequences to his actions so he HID, letting your mother take the punishment and by default, you as well. He was a  hut'uun in the worst way, so don’t you dare tell me you are comparing yourself to that man. Fifteen minutes and a single act of courage doesn’t make up a lifetime of cowardice and treachery.” 

Corridan’s voice took on an edge of raw anger, “I was here, hell, I was with you, while he was _hiding_. I remember every night you cried in your sleep, and I was there, slamming  jar'sheb evaar’s heads into the wall every time they even looked at you wrong. I…damn it, I protected you, I taught you, I spent my entire childhood making sure that you were safe, taken care of, because…that’s what brothers do. Isn’t it?” 

“You raised me.” 

Corridan shrugged, knowing it was an odd way to express it, “I guess, that’s it. I dunno. It’s just…I was here and he wasn’t. He _might_ have been a good man, a brave one, and I admire any man willing to die for his convictions—honestly I do—but that’s not what your Dad did—he hid. He left you to be loathed, to be ridiculed, to be tortured,”  

His hands waved at Torian’s face. 

“If you didn’t kill him _, I would have_. It was just a matter of time.” 

Torian nodded, understanding. 

Corridan didn’t know how to express it, not without hurting Torian’s feelings, but he made an effort, “It’s time to move, it’s time to take that first step out of the comfort of my clan and embrace your own—when I say you are hiding, you know it’s not like that—it isn’t cowardly—because you don’t have a cowardly bone in your entire body! I am saying this is the easy road, this is the simple way, toast. But you and I both know it’s not where you have been going, not for a long time—this, stepping out and embracing your clan? It is what you WANT, and if you need me to muun'bajir gar out the door I am not afraid to do that.” 

Torian studied Corridan, minutes passing before he grunted, speaking emphatically, “You were a _horrible_ father.” 

“Wha…” Corridan huffed, “Osik'la gar!” 

“And a horrible _mother_ , too.” 

“Murcyur ner shebs!” he turned, lifting himself to stand up. 

“And you couldn’t brokar ni, fear or not, we just settled that?” 

Corridan was fuming, he started walking away, then, without warning, he launched himself at Torian, who knew what he was going to do, rolling his body sideways, sending Corridan sliding across the ground in front of him, his face the main thing slowing him down. 

“Like I just said…” Torian said lightly, cringing a little when Corridan lifted his face and pebbles were stuck in his skin. 

“Shut it.” 

“I’m just…”  

“Torian?” 

“Vod?” 

“Walk away.” 

Torian stood up, rolling his neck, watching Corridan roll over on his back, groaning loudly, the entire left side of his face scratched and bruised.  He stepped over to him,  reaching down to help Corridan up—he slapped his hand away,  closing his eyes. 

“Don’t fall asleep out here, Cor.” 

He grunted a response, satisfied, Torian then turned, walking toward his barracks.  

“Tor?” Corridan called out to him. 

When he didn’t answer, he leaned up, glancing around—Torian was no longer there. 

* * *

 

 

Corridan bolted straight up, gasping, his eyes flying open, his hand digging in his armor for his chrono, checking the time. Relief washed over him as he realized he still had forty minutes to get to the spaceport.  

He glanced around, expecting to have to wake Torian, but he wasn’t there—everything was pretty hazy about where he'd gone at this point. He twisted around, scanning the area for him—standing up, stretching, his bones popping from sleeping on the rocky ground, and from the beating his body had taken from Torain. 

He reached up, rubbing his jaw, shifting it from side to side, his skin tight and swollen, painful, positive he looked like he’d went a few rounds with an angry nexu. That wasn’t too far from the truth. 

He made his way to the mess hall, running his fingers through his hair trying to tame it. He grabbed a few portable foods, Hsuaberry muffins, stopping to have a chat with his Uncle, still serving as Clan Ordo’s leader, then making his way to his speeder.  

He couldn’t help be disappointed when Torian wasn’t there. He stuffed the second muffin into his mouth, throwing on his helmet and latching the strap, heading out to the spaceport for the pickup. 

* * *

Torian hadn’t slept. He’d left Corridan laying out there in the field, following one of the trails up to a high point, above everything, and he’d sat there all night. Thinking. Imagining. Considering. Talking to the cosmos. 

He’d went around and around in circles with himself—on the one hand, he had a home, this _was_ his home—these were _his_ people. It was all he’d known. Which wasn’t a bad thing. 

He’d also thought of the fact that he was always driving to do more, never completely happy, always feeling….held down, back, his hand ached from holding the ring so tightly, and he’d do anything to have his mother there with him to tell him what he should do. This was one of the important things Mother’s did for their children in their society—guided them, helped them understand paths and how to tell one from the other—he didn’t know much about her, not really, but he had a feeling deep inside that she would guide him to do the right thing.  

It was all so confusing—with no clear answers—he’d wrestled with himself for several hours before he had finally admitted he was afraid. It was a foreign word to him and quite possibly not even the right word to use for what he was feeling, but it was the closest word he had to describe it—the all encompassing feeling of the unknown right outside of his boundaries.  The worry that he might fail—seemed to him that it could be a kind of fear—even if not in the traditional sense. That he might crash if he tried to fly. Protective of himself from being hurt, positively mortified that he might hurt someone else, to do anything emotional really. He had to come around to the understanding, despite having nary a single fear when it came to battles and war—when it came to every other facet of his life, he played it safe…especially about relationships—the main reason he had only a single person he trusted in the world. 

He’d learned as a child to keep his head down, to not speak up, to stay behind everyone, and to fight to win—every time—because he’d never allow himself to be that kid pinned down to the ground again.  

 _Never_ _._  

The truth was, no one ever challenged him to do more or be more, and now he figured that was because of Corridan protecting him in his own way. 

Plus, the things he was good at and confident in made sense to him. Battles made sense. There was a definitive goal. A beginning, and an end. You walked into a fight knowing what was expected of you—and you left knowing you had accomplished it.  

Everything else in life was messy. He had spent every day of his life so far walking the undeniably safe path—the clean, organized, and completely risk free path. 

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. If he didn’t try—then he couldn’t fail. If he didn’t put himself out there—then he couldn’t get hurt.  

Except, maybe, just maybe—there were some things _worth_ taking the risk for.  

His mind had carried him back to a conversation he’d had with a man he greatly admired as a child. 

 _“I like them.”_ The man had pointed at his scars on his face. He was proud of them, he thanked him.  

 _“I want to make sure you know something about today, and every day that you live beyond this…”_  

This was important. This was vital. No one gave him advice—but this great man wanted to share his words of wisdom with him. He meant to remember every word, to live it out day by day. 

 _“Live up to the person these symbols say you are. They will be as a banner before an army—speaking boldly to others—you made the decision to make_ ** _this_** _your identity—now you have to believe it—you have to live it—_ ** _be it._** _”_  

 _“I will,”_ he meant it, he would. He meant to. He really did, but life was challenging and under the weight of all of the struggles he faced, he lost track of what his goals were, what he had planned at that young age—the life he had imagined, the Clan he meant to build. 

 _“Make Clan Cadera great_ _again.”_  

The words lodged in his throat, he whispered softly, reverently, anxious to give them life by speaking them into existence, “ _Make_ _Clan Cadera great again._ ” 

He knew he’d lost sight of the vision he once had for his life. Beaten down by his circumstances—when you’d been called horrible names your entire life—it was easy to let it become a part of you, even when you didn’t realize you had—and he knew now he definitely had, he had let his father’s mistakes define him—and the narrow view of a small group of people influence how he saw himself.  

They’d taught him to question himself, to have doubts —told him he’d never amount to anything. Told him that he was worthless. Told him that he’d never do anything right. Told him that he would never see his Clan whole again. 

 _I believed them._  

As he sat there on the hill, the sun breaking over the treetops beyond, the first rays of light reaching out to him as if whispering a hello—he didn’t believe them.  

 _Not anymore._  

He knew he was made to do amazing things. He felt the surety deep in his soul. His life had purpose and he was not going to find it if he kept using Clan Ordo as a security blanket. He needed to step out. Step up. Making his Clan great again—that started by acknowledging that he WAS the Clan. That it started with him, and with only himself—he is _still_ a Clan.  

From there, he knew it could grow—and his heart squeezed when his thoughts drifted to Raeyn, her image alive and full colored in his mind’s eye. He knew he hadn’t known her long enough to feel so…needy about her—but he’d never felt this way about anyone before. She was breathtaking. And sure, she was beautiful, it was impossible to not notice how beautiful she was physically—but it _wasn’t_ that. There was something about her, a feeling that only existed when he was there. Made him feel alive, truly alive. She was strong, and not some average kind of strong, but strong—vital—capable—determined—spirited—fearless—bold—and all of it was wrapped up in this feminine person—who wears pink, purple, green, and has multi-colored hair, and who just….lives. _Really lives_. He could tell from just the short time he’d spent with her that when she woke up every day was a perfect day to live, and nothing in his life spoke more of what being Mando’ade really was if that didn’t.  

 _She’s Mandalorian._  

His heart beat so hard it felt like it might jump right out of his chest. Manda’lor had adopted her—she wasn’t just an example of what a Mando’ade could be. She was an example of what a Mando’ade is. She was one of his own, and she was a far better picture of what all Mandalorian should aspire to than most who had been born into their clans. She made _him_ want to be a better person. When she’d walked into the room the first time, his world shifted, and it was like everything in the universe pulled to her gravity field. He wanted to let go and fall into it, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet.  

And then when she’d shown up to hunt the beast in the cave on Dromond Kaas, he’d had the chance to spend more time with her. She’d had a meal with them after the hunt, and he could feel how happy she was, how unique. How every color in the sky was a beautiful vision to her. How the taste of the bread and gravy made her close her eyes, savoring it. He wanted that. He wanted to fall into it, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet. 

When he’d approached her while hunting Jicoln—he got to know her a little better—he had the chance to utilize his skills as a hunter—to observe and take note of her—and everything he discovered made him understand that she wasn’t like anyone else he’d ever met. She was absolutely crazy, her hair a different color on this planet, her clothing color picked to match it, like she changed her personality based on how she woke up that day. She was exuberant. She was a ball of energy—and yet, she would sit still for hours watching a firefly or the sparks from a fire. She was smart, and witty, brash and volatile—and then she was deeply introspective—she didn’t make him feel like a horrible person for what he was doing—she told him that they all had to follow their own hunt, and that anyone who refused to, would only live a half-life.  

 _I’_ _ve_ _been living a_ _half-life_ _._  

When they’d confronted his father, she stepped aside—having put in as much effort as he had, she offered the kill to him—even telling him if he didn’t _want_ to do it, _she would_ —going so far as to tell him that she’d bring him back in carbonite if he didn’t want to do it the other way. _She meant it._ She knew he could do it, she didn’t question his capability or resolve, she wanted to know what he _wanted_. No one cared what he wanted. Ever. 

She took his hand, squeezing it as she stepped to the side to he could speak to his father alone. She told him, a tiny whisper as she passed by him, “I’ll be here no matter what you decide.” And it felt like she meant it. She didn’t press him for details, she had reached to him, while they were sitting on a rock, waiting for her crew to get to them to help get his body on board—and her hands, she’d turned her body toward him, her face open and full of truth, and her hands—they took his. And she bowed her head over them, and he couldn’t put a name to what he felt but something in him felt peace, real _peace_ —it was fleeting and by the time he’d arrived back at the camp—it was fading—but he felt like she’d given him a sacred gift there in the moments after he’d killed his own father. There was acceptance, there was understanding, and she radiated with another beautiful emotion he couldn’t name. 

When they were parting, as she was heading to her ship, and he had been coming back to his camp—she shuffled her feet, and he felt it, the pull, the gravity growing, swelling, desperate around them, pulling him to her, and he fought it, he pulled away from her, it took everything in him, to break away, and he thought he saw her face pained, but in a flash it was gone, and he walked away, convinced that even though he wanted to fall into it, he wasn’t ready. 

Except, sitting there, the wind blowing across his face, feeling more alive than he had his entire life—he _was_ ready. She might end up hating him. It might never work out. They both might be too different or even too much alike. Anything could happen—but he could tell in the innermost part of his soul—she is worth the risk. 

 ** _I am ready._**  

He jumped up, the bottom falling out of the pit of his stomach as he realized he didn’t know what time it was and that the crew was meeting her at her ship’s hangar at 8:00. He looked at the sun, worried that it was already late morning…taking off down the hill, digging through his armor trying to find his chrono, running while he pulled it up, trying to see the numbers as they bounced, while he ran. He finally had to stop, out of breath, holding it up, and sheer panic set in when he realized it was fifteen minutes until eight. 

He was like a man gone mad, tearing a wild path through the woods heading back to the camp, completely oblivious to any danger, not caring, not having the time to care, he was getting to that hangar before she left.  

He tore into the camp, flashing past people who tried to ask him if he was okay, calling out to them as he ran, “I’m amazing!” 

He turned a corner, running into someone, turning as he continued to run backward, his eyes widening as he recognized the clan leader, Corridan’s Uncle, he opened his mouth to issue an apology when the man’s eyes lit up, a smile breaking across his face, “Go! Torian! _GO!_ ” 

“Yes, sir!” he yelled, turning and breaking into a full sprint. He realized Corridan must have told his uncle and he was thankful, so glad to have seen him in the moments before he was leaving—his heart renewed as he felt the surety the man had planted in him all those many years ago swell up inside of himself. 

He knew he didn’t have time to gather his belongings, instead he just moved his hand to confirm he ring was in his glove and when he knew it was safe, he ran past the barracks to the speeder parking. He grabbed the first one he came to, the helmet falling off, and he laughed, knowing it was the first risk he was going to take—kicking it to the side—starting the engine and flooring it out of there.  

He ran the bike full throttle, too many close calls to count as he avoided mishaps and potential death traps. A pack of Rakghouls chased him for 40 clicks before they trailed off accepting he wasn’t going to stop. He could see the spaceport over the hill—still so far to go—he looked at the dash—7:56.  

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” he yelled leaning forward trying to make the bike go faster. He could see the outline of the top of the spaceport, coming up across the horizon as he flew through Olaris base—people screaming at him as he flew up on the sidewalk, the base alive and bustling with the morning crews and patrons milling around, he ran over the shrubbery dividing the walkway, to avoid a group of people who were blocking the street. 

“SORRY!” He yelled as he passed them. He knew he needed to slow down—it was 8:12—so he couldn’t, his heart was ready to burst out of his chest he was so overwrought with anxiety.  

He took the bike up the steps to the Spaceport at full speed, people moving to the side as he sped toward the wall in front of him. He hit the brakes hoping to slow down, but realizing it was too late, he let go, the bike sliding across the floor as he rolled off of it. He came out of the roll running—circling around the entryway, realizing he had no idea what hangar she was in.  

He ran to the information droid, trying to say the right words but his tongue was tied. He finally said her first name, realizing he didn’t know her last name—and the droid made noises, seeming to take longer to search the records than could possibly be normal, and then told him she was in hangar 18B preparing for takeoff.  

“No, she’s not!” He swore as he dodged people, throwing off his chest piece as he ran, allowing him to breath better, sliding sideways between a crowd of people who were in his way—his hands flying up in the air to keep from hitting them as he passed—his legs burning as he ran, his chest on fire—his eyes wide, seeing the light for her gate—pushing himself, on autopilot, absolutely out of his mind, soaring across the space his hand slamming into the button, glancing behind him at all of the people standing still in his wake. All staring at him. Complete havoc in the entire lobby. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, slapping the button again, “C’mon, gedet’ye—come ON!” 

He heard the shuttle moving, coming down. He glanced around to see if there were stairs, his eyes going wide as he saw a sign to a door about ten feet beside him that appeared to be stairs. He glanced back at the shuttle, it still wasn’t there. He took off running to the stair doors—slamming into it, and taking the stairs two at a time. He couldn’t see the end of the six level stairway, cursing the fact that spaceports thought making the ships take off from a higher altitude made _any_ difference at all. 

He finally reached the top steps, skidding into the door, missing the bar to open it, his breath knocked out of him, as he slammed it again, it flying open, he rushed out into the gate lobby. He looked around at all of the people, not seeing Raeyn or any of the people from Clan Ordo anywhere. He saw the light for Airlock B—it was flashing—prepared for departure.  

He took off toward the tunnel, one of the airport security people calling after him, he knew he was risking his life, but he’d already went through rakghoul infested, landmine permeated, rebel overrun terrain at 150 miles per hour without a helmet to get there. He’d take his chances on the security guard. He slammed into a trolley filled with crates, shoving it out of his way, the tunnel hatch so close. He threw everything that stood between him and the gate out of his way—people rushing to get out of his way…some container with livestock tipped over as he slammed into it and careened off the side of it—the sound of Endorian chickens squawking and cackling filling the air, poofs of feathers flying up above everyone's heads as the crates burst open when they hit the ground. 

He slammed into the hatch, his fingers pressing every button he could find.  It made the right noise finally, his fingers thrumming the door, depressurization beginning. He glanced behind him at the guard still stumbling his way past the utterly wrecked lobby he’d left behind him. 

The lock seals started to screech as the door disengaged, then it opened, painfully slow while he was bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

When it had cleared enough for him to duck under it he threw himself past it, running down the tube to the other side where another door waited—he hit the door with full force—it blew back violently slamming into the wall behind it, as he came barreling into the entry space, everyone in the small area turning to stare at him as he leaned down, his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. 

He held his finger up, trying to get some oxygen to his brain so he could actually talk, his heart beating out of his chest from both the exertion and the fact he could feel her— _c_ _an_ _feel her_ —she was there.  

“Geez, Torian, it’s not like your dar'manda buir needs you to be his escort, why are you even here?”  

 _Jogo._  

If he did have any ability to respond he’d probably use a strongly vulgar string of words—given that, he was actually glad he couldn’t actually speak. 

“Shut up, Jogo,” Corridan snapped, “You guys take the mark out of here.” Corridan looked around past where Torrian thought he might actually be dying to see a security guard coming down the tunnel—his eyes flashing to Torian and then back at the guard.  

“And take care of that guard,” he hissed, one of the Mando’ade turning to look at him, holding up his fingers to gesture as if it meant money, to which Corridan nodded affirmative. 

Torian shuffled to the side, letting them pass, his father’s carbonite tomb moving past him—closure to a long dark chapter in his life.  

 _Finally_ _._  

Corridan walked over to him, leaning into him, whispering, “You okay?” 

Torian laughed a small huff in between his gasps, “Dying.” 

“I’ll cover you,” Corridan whispered, walking back over to Raeyn, his voice loud in the small space when he spoke, “Torian had to deliver a vital message to me.” 

It wasn’t even like the lie was delivered in a way that would make it remotely believable and he heard Raeyn scoff, knowing she was being played.  

 _She’s smart,_ _Cor_ _, you idiot._  

Torian stood up then, his hand landing on his chest, trying to calm his heart rate, his hair plastered to his head from the sweat, he shuffled to where Raeyn and Corridan were standing.  

She was smiling brightly, the gravity around her swelling the closer he got to her—and he wanted to go, oh, how much, how deeply, how truly he wanted to leap. Dive. Fall. 

“Sorry, didn’t….mean to….barge in like that,” Torian spoke between still labored breaths, “I….needed to…ask you, Champion.” 

“Well, take some time here, Cadera—whatever you want to ask—you can ask when you aren’t on the verge of passing out.”  

 _Was her voice always that beautiful?_  

“Dar'liser…” he muttered, “…Dar’liser parer. Gedet’ye …….” 

“Haar'chak!”  Corridan cursed loudly, “She doesn’t know Mando’a you….” Corridan huffed, “Champion, my boy here, he has a favor to ask you.” 

Raeyn didn’t stop looking at Torian, though her eyes narrowed slightly at Corridan’s tone before they resumed studying Torian.  Even though Corridan was speaking for him, Raeyn just continued nodding her head, almost absently, while she stared at Torian. 

“He wants to come with you,” Corridan said quickly, his eyes wide open trying to take in the image before his eyes, because despite him standing right there, Raeyn was completely and utterly fixated on Torian. 

Torian nodded, his head still bent over his frame, the hand on his chest pointing to Corridan, his head shaking yes, as if to say “what he’s saying”, as he laid the hand back down on his chest again. 

“Didn’t get enough of me yet?” She asked, stepping forward into his bubble—the air somehow easier to breath suddenly, and he straightened up to see her eyes, they were lit up with humor, a sassy smirk painted across her face, and his eyes fell past her to Corridan who was smiling like he’d just bagged a wampa without breaking a sweat. 

Torian’s eyes shifted back to Raeyn who had moved a few more inches closer to him, his entire being screaming, “YES!” 

“Guess not,” he answered, grinning at her as she seemed to be bouncing a little, his breath still landing a little short but his words were understandable. 

“Well, then, welcome aboard, _Torian._ ” 

Her tone felt familiar, and his skin prickled with goosebumps as it ran across him, his name from her mouth. Her eyes shifted past him to where Jogo had returned to let Corridan know they had secured everything and were ready to head back to the camp. 

Corriadan moved so that he could face Raeyn, nodding, “Thank you again for your help, Champion, it was a pleasure.”  

“No, thank you!” Raeyn still didn’t look at Corridan, who actually couldn’t even be offended, because this was pure golden sunshine as far as he was concerned. 

Corridan turned, starting to head to the door, but paused when Jogo called out, “Coming Torian?” 

Torian turned, his breathing finally almost normal, “Nope.” He responded without looking at Jogo, unable to look away from Raeyn. 

Jogo huffed, and then made a sound of displeasure, “You can finally show your face, and now you’re running off. Figures.” 

Raeyn had been studying Torian’s injuries, the swelling and black and blue marks that marred his skin, her hands itching to touch the marks to find out what they were from. She tried to resist, but her hand moved of it’s own accord, reaching out and landing on Torian’s cheek. Torian’s body snapped to attention and he pulled backward a bit at the shock that ran through him. 

“Try to make something of yourself, Arue'tal,” Jogo hissed. Torian managed to pull his eyes away from Raeyn’s to look across the room at Jogo then, his mind flittering to the memory of his scars and considering an appropriate response in front of _her_. 

Torian glanced back to look at Raeyn, her hand had dropped from his cheek, and her expression was dark and brewing.  

Her words were friendly, but still had an edge to them that he couldn’t quite describe, almost as if they were dripping with acid, “Actually, could you excuse me for a moment? I have something I forgot to mention about the carbonite casing…special model.”   

She shuffled past Corridan, entering the tunnel, pulling Jogo with her, the door hissing closed behind them. 

Corridan stepped back to Torian whose eyes were still fixated on the tunnel where Raeyn had just entered. He surveyed Torian, one side of his face bruised and swollen, sure enough a pretty prominent black eye was forming where he had kicked him, he gestured toward him, “Sorry about…” he just waved his hand around in the air, “all of that...” He turned to tuck his helmet under his arm. 

“Don’t be.” 

Corridan couldn’t help but look surprised. 

“I needed it,” Torian shuffled his feet, “I..just…” 

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, “Came here knowing she was either going to take me with her, or I am going…somewhere…I’m looking to make my clan.” 

Corridan wanted to scream at the top of his lungs that he already knew she was going to take him on her ship. He just KNEW it. 

He nodded, proud of himself for his understated response. 

“Rangir,” Torian grumbled, “Just do it.” 

“I expect you to call me the minute you’ve boarded her ship, and I want to know everything, and seriously, you couldn’t have actually considered the possibility that she wouldn’t take you, I’m _never_ wrong!” 

“Except about paying women to try to seduce me, you ,” Torian rolled his eyes when Corridan started to speak, “Don’t worry about it—I’m just saying, you aren’t always the best judge of these things.” 

“I’m right about this one. I’ve got a feeling about her.” 

Torian shrugged, “Maybe, we’ll see—either way, I want more—want to live—to finally be me, apart from the labels.” He shuffled his feet, “I didn’t know how to take the first step, you were right about that.” He reached up running his hand across his cheek, “I know now. This is it.” 

Corridan moved to stand in front of him, his hand pulling him to bump his head into his, “Clan Ordo will _always_ have Clan Cadera’s six.” 

Torian stared at him, then nodded, his hand landing hard on Corridan’s shoulder, squeezing it.  

“So,” Torian took a deep breath, then spoke quickly, “Are we gonna cry or braid each other’s hair, or can you go send her back I here so I can get off this planet already?” 

“Osi'kyr!” Corridan shoved Torian’s head backward with his palm, laughing, turning to head out the tunnel, opening the door and almost bumping into Raeyn who was walking in.  

“Take care of what you needed to?” Corridan asked, letting her pass by him. 

“Sure did!” She beamed a smile at him and his heart caught in his throat. Torian was a lucky man.  

“Take care of my boy,” he said, softer than he meant to, his eyes flashing past her to Torian who looked like he was going to either launch himself across the room at him, or maybe cry. Possibly both. 

“You can count on it!’ Raeyn responded, turning to walk backwards, still looking at Corridan, “he’s part of my crew now and _I take care of my people_.”  

She winked at him, and he couldn’t help but smile, reading between the lines, knowing that he was right about her and she was _crazy_ about Torian. 

“Glad to hear it,” he nodded to Torian and then headed out of the airlock.  

Raeyn grabbed Torian’s hand as she passed him, his eyes wide with shock before he schooled his face when she turned to look around the area. 

“What?” He asked, looking around for whatever she might be trying to find. 

“No bags?”  

He shook his head, “Had a little confusion on time this morning—so I didn’t get a chance to pick them up.” 

She smiled, his breath catching in his throat, “No worries! That just means I get to dress you.” 

He turned when he heard laughter from behind them, Gault and Mako standing at the door to the ship. 

“Son of a Hutt,” Gault moaned dramatically, “you’ve already lost your man card and you haven’t even stepped on the ship. Emperor help us all.” 

‘Shut up Gault,” Mako reached over to slap his arm. Gault acted offended, then laughed when Mako leaned to him, hitting him with her hip. 

Raeyn turned to look at Torian, his hand still in hers, like she didn’t even realize she was holding it, “Let’s get you settled into your new home.” 

He nodded, smiling even though it hurt his face to smile. 

 _Home_ _._  

 

 

* * *

 

 

Raeyn couldn’t control herself, and she was screaming internally that she really shouldn’t touch him, at the same time as her hand reached out to touch Torian’s face, bruised and swollen. She desperately wanted to protect him, take care of him, and she wanted to know how they had happened—so that if it was something she could correct, she would. She knew it was too soon for such notions but her heart was flooded with them. 

Jogo had walked back into the room, and while she was consumed with her internal dialogue, she heard the word, “arue'tal” as her hand touched Torian’s cheek, a horrible vision passed from his mind to hers.  

 _No. Please. He was only seven years old. How could he?_  

Understanding settling over her instantly, her eyes darting to Jogo, narrowing, she was barely able to keep from growling. Her hand dropped and she was glad Torian was looking away from her. She took a deep breath, knowing she was fixing to blow the lights in the room if she didn’t calm down.  

When Torian looked at her she had managed to compose herself, mostly, half smiling as she spoke in a somewhat too sweet voice, “Actually, could you excuse me for a moment? I had something I forgot to mention about the carbonite casing…special model.” 

He nodded, Corridan stepping aside so she could go to the tunnel where Jogo was standing. She grabbed his arm, none too gentle, his eyes popping open as she pulled him into the tunnel, slapping the lock so the door would close.  

As the door hissed closed he jerked his arm out of her grasp, “What do you thi…” 

His head jerked backward, hitting the metal behind him, pain blooming across his face, as Raeyn’s hand had shot forward with a nose breaking punch straight into his face, his hands flew up, blood pouring between his fingers as he tried to make sense of what just happened. He started to speak, to yell, but she had her arm against his throat, leaning up on her toes to reach him with enough leverage, before a noise could be issued, her voice low and hissing, “That’s the last time you will _ever_ call Torian by such a disrespectful name.” 

She leaned into his face, her eyes blazing, “I _know_ what you did to him. I know about his scars. I know why you did what you did Jogo—you hated him because you were jealous. That was a long time ago—and you are no longer a child—and I will not be patient the way your peers seem to be. You will not use that name or any other name that disparages that man’s character again. Do you understand?” 

She moved her head down, her eyes cold, challenging him. His mouth opened and closed, looking down at her slight form, his brows furrowing, the hand that was squeezing his nose shut tilting down to see her better. 

She had to close her eyes as the room was turning red and she could feel the fear that Torian felt, the shame, she could feel the knife slicing into her own cheek. She was filling with rage. She heard the walls in the tunnel begin to shake. She tried to think of happy things. Laying in Torian’s lap to sleep as he sang a Mandalorian lullaby. She felt herself calming down, able to take a deep breath. 

“Wh…what are you?” he asked, his eyes wide with fear. 

She smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile, it was cold and menacing, “ _I am your worst nightmare_.” 

His eyes bulged, clearly believing it to be true. Her hand came up, he flinched, she reached to lay her hand on his cheek, meaning to grab him to warn him, when she touched his skin a new vision from him filled her mind.  

Suddenly, she threw her head back laughing, a tiny snort coming out as she tried to catch her breath. Jogo’s brows furrowed in confusion, considering that she may have lost her mind, and maybe his life was in mortal danger.  

She seemed to compose herself, her hand slapping him softly on the cheek, “You are **_pathetic_**.” 

His eyes widened, “What? Why would you say that?” 

“You are _beholden_ to Clan Cadera,” as the words left her mouth his body stiffened, his face turning red, he tried to shift his eyes, but she grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her, “You call Torian 'arue'tal' because it makes you feel better about your position _under_ him, but what _really_ bothers you is that he doesn’t correct you because you aren’t _worth_ his effort. _Not one_ _single breath_.” 

Jogo’s eyes narrowed, “What kind of sorcery is this?” 

“The kind that will kill you in your sleep. From another galaxy. With zero effort.” She pulled a hair from his head, holding it out in front of him, “This is all I need to attune to you, no matter where you are. Do you understand?” 

He nodded his head, clearly believing her. 

“Unfortunately for you, I’m not like Torian, who clearly has long-suffering patience, overflows with unearned loyalty and forgiveness to those who do not deserve it—such a _good_ and _decent_ man—all of which I lack, all of which I have never really needed in my life—so while your words may be something Torian doesn’t take offense to, _I am offended by them_. I have no patience, I have no loyalty to you, and I will _never_ forgive you. If you mistreat him again, it will be the _last_ time you live to do so.” 

She stared at him, and to him it felt as if she were digging deep into his soul. He nodded his head, his eyes wide and fearful. 

“Good, then moving forward you will treat Clan Cadera with the respect that is due, and if you do not—I will be seeing you again,” she released his face with a jerk, his head hitting the metal again. 

He rushed away from her, down the tunnel, still holding his bleeding nose when she called out to him, “Jogo!”  

He turned, his eyes wide, “If you don’t stand by this promise, then I will know, and I am a woman of my word.” 

He stared at her for a moment, then nodding, reaching around to slap the console to open the door to the lobby. 

She watched as the tunnel opened and he flurried out into the lobby, dropping the hair she’d pulled out of his head to the ground, dusting her hands of and turning to open the door to her ships air lock.  

 _Not even sorry._  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's impossible for me to tell you all how much your kindness means to me! Every single read and kudo is a beautiful gift to me! Comments are like the singular most beautiful gift in the universe and I LOVE you all for sharing your thoughts and feels with me!!! <3 <3 <3
> 
> * * *
> 
> aruetyc buir [AH-roo-eh-TEESH boo-EER] traitorous father
> 
> alor'ad [al-OHR-ahd] captain
> 
> vod [vohd] brother
> 
> laandur [LAHN-doo-er] delicate, fragile (sometimes an insult - weak, pathetic)
> 
> shabuir [SHAH-boo-EER] extreme insult - *jerk*, but much stronger
> 
> gehat'ik osik'la [oh-SIK-lah GE'hah-teek] messed up, screwed up, horrible story
> 
> dar'manda [dar-MAHN-da] a state of not being Mandalorian - not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and his soul - regarded with absolute dread by most traditionall-minded Mando'ade
> 
> Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la. [Gar Tal-DEEN nee jah-OHn-eesh, gar sa BOO-eer OH-ree-wah-DAHS-la.] *Nobody cares who your father was, only the father you'll be.* (Lit: Bloodline is not important, but you as a father are the most valuable thing.) Mando saying emphasising the importance of a father's role, and that a man is judged more by that than his lineage.
> 
> mandokarla [MAN-doh-KAR-lah] having the *right stuff*, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue
> 
> Osi'kyr! [OH-see-KEER] Strong exclamation of surprise or dismay
> 
> cin'runi [seen-roo-NEE] virgin, innocent--not necessarily meaning sex life, lit. pure soul
> 
> Wayii! [Why-EE or WHY-ee] Good grief! General exclamation of surprise, good or bad.
> 
> or'dinii [Ohr-DEE-nee] moron, fool
> 
> utreekov [oo-TREE-kov] fool, idiot (lit. emptyhead)
> 
> mir'sheb [MEER-sheb] smartass
> 
> Gedet'ye [Geh-DET-yay] Please
> 
> murey'lin [MOO-ray-leen] lust, lustful
> 
> Rangir! [RAN-geer] To hell with it!
> 
> arue'tal [ah-roo-TAHL] traitor's blood
> 
> kadas'ika [kah-DAH-see-kah] - cub, pup, baby predator
> 
> bevagol [bayv-AH-gohl] - male reproductive part...putting it politely here ha but YES it's THAT
> 
> Haar'chak! [HAR-chak] Damn it!
> 
> osik [OH-sik] dung (impolite)
> 
> hut'uun [hoo-TOON] coward (worst possible insult)
> 
> jar'sheb evaar [JAHR-sheb EH-var] dumbass children (someone stupid enough to get into fights they are bound to lose or get their ass kicked)--loosly used here as basically punk ass kids lol
> 
> muun'bajir gar [MOO-wun BAH-jeer GAHR] kick your ass, ie trounce, teach someone a lesson, *kick butt* lit: educate hard
> 
> osik'la gar [oh-SIK-lah GAHR] screw you (impolite)
> 
> murcyr ner shebs [moor-SHOOR nair hebs] kiss my ass (impolite)
> 
> brokar ni [broh-KAHR NEE] beat me
> 
> dar'liser [dahr lee-SAIR] can't wait
> 
> di'kut [DEE-koot] idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)


	9. Raeyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pronunciation Guide for Character Names:
> 
> Xaraeyn [ZAY rain]  
> Raeyn [rain]  
> Xayoimea [ZAY oh ME]  
> Andronea [AND ron EE uh]  
> Androxyn [AND rocks zin]  
> Nikolaes [NEE coh lace]  
> Xaya [ZAY uh]
> 
> I should have given this sooner, my apologies for overlooking it. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few things--there is a part in here that I did not supply pronunciations or explanations for--you'll find that at the end of the chapter because I felt like it would destroy the flow of the scene by causing you to interrupt to check the meanings. I did my best to give the meanings right there in the chapter. =o)
> 
> Just a couple of translations in this chapter, as always they are available on pop-up here or you can get them here:
> 
> Tumblr Post: http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/post/151001262146/the-pages-between-chapter-9-raeyn
> 
> Chapter Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCmzlzRgPUhHSNhcJ_I4kqj1IZ5ly8v7j
> 
> * * *

> So lately, been wondering  
>  Who will be there to take my place  
>  When I'm gone, you'll need love  
>  To light the shadows on your face
> 
> If a great wave shall fall  
>  It'd fall upon us all  
>  And between the sand and stone  
>  Could you make it on your own?
> 
> If I could, then I would  
>  I'll go wherever you will go  
>  Way up high or down low  
>  I'll go wherever you will go
> 
> And maybe, I'll find out  
>  The way to make it back someday  
>  To watch you, to guide you  
>  Through the darkest of your days
> 
> If a great wave shall fall  
>  It'd fall upon us all  
>  Well I hope there's someone out there  
>  Who can bring me back to you
> 
> If I could, then I would  
>  I'll go wherever you will go  
>  Way up high or down low  
>  I'll go wherever you will go
> 
> Run away with my heart  
>  Run away with my hope  
>  Run away with my love
> 
> I know now, just quite how  
>  My life and love might still go on  
>  In your heart, in your mind  
>  I'll stay with you for all of time
> 
> If I could turn back time  
>  I'll go wherever you will go  
>  If I could make you mine  
>  I'll go wherever you will go
> 
> I'll go wherever you will go
> 
> **Wherever You Will Go**
> 
> **The Calling**

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

> Message-ID: <c5f7e125729f4c1ab73bd41fdef669c2-ITM-ID-df38478292983sdk9238jt5ds6-234fls>
> 
> X-Mailer: IntergalacticTransmissionModule Galaxy/89er72o8974edjfog883-LOC
> 
> ITM-Version: 5.2.14
> 
> Encryption: STRICT.matrix342399283.tracert.codeSECURE
> 
> Failsafe: TRUE-interception blocked.CONF-382882340Droid23fjdfks-EmbassyALD
> 
>  
> 
> To: Xayoimae Revel <ITM-ID-er8440983llkgldfk93fd349-954352>
> 
> Subject: IT HAPPENED!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Receipt: 3443lsdk553lf-s2stul
> 
> From: Raeyn Revel <ITM-ID-df38478292983sdk9238jt5ds6-234fls>
> 
>  
> 
> Eldae’na,
> 
> Today my life changed. Every molecule in my body reorganized, renewed. There was not a piece of me that was unaffected. You told me it would be like this, but I just didn’t know. ((EEEEEEEE)), it was like I never saw anything before. There are at least fifty new colors I can see—and everything is so bright and beautiful.
> 
> He was _there_.
> 
> He is _real_.
> 
> His name is _Torian_.
> 
> You knew how I have struggled—and I had started to doubt if the force really intended for me to be alone. Then, he was there, and his spirit was so _beautiful_ , it just was so clear and bright and it took my breath away….it was fractured, yes, I sensed extraordinary pain in his life—I saw the scars on his soul—so deep—but he was absolutely _beautifully_ broken. _He matched my soul,_ it was…I can’t even describe it. I’ll have to show you when I see you again.
> 
> Before you ask, yes, _I am okay_. It has taken several hours for me to be able to take a deep breath. The pain…it was horrible. It’s faded some now, but I know it will be there always when I am away from him. I’m okay with that.  If I were to never see him again, it was worth knowing what truly being alive feels like.
> 
> I don’t know how or even if he will fall in love with me or not, and it is my deepest held fear. I know I can’t demand, or coerce anything, and I know that I have to be patient. I promise I will be. I will not seek him out. I will trust the force to bring us together again as you and Dae have taught me.
> 
> For tonight? As I lay my head down to sleep—I find I have new emotions I never knew existed before. Is this what love feels like? Not true love, I know that, but…the infatuation? I can’t stop thinking of him. All at once the idea of love is so exquisite, the small taste has my heart bent on craving _more._ I want to unfold every petal of love’s beauty. Is this what hope feels like? Joy? Peace? Happiness? True forms of each of those have arisen anew in me. I had no idea, I thought I did, but now I know—what I have felt in the residual overflow from others—it was just a fraction of the reality.
> 
> I’ll always understand how Andronea feels about Vette now. And I better understand Nikolaes. He’s stronger than I ever gave him credit for. I just didn’t know. I still don’t know how he is doing what he is. I wish he’d listen to reason! I’m going to talk to him—to try again, maybe Dae could talk to him too? Ohhh, I can’t wait for Androxyn to meet his bond! I hope the spark is there for them like it was for me!!  I want to _make_ Xaya show me her bond—I want her to know this—but she’s so **stubborn**. You are going to have to talk to her! Anyway, I thought I knew but I didn’t. Thank you for taking so many years, so much time, to prepare me for this—I admit, I wasn’t exactly in control despite all of the preparation—it would seem that no amount of explaining could ever do this justice. I couldn’t have done it without you, without Daedae. Without _any_ of you. Thank you.
> 
> Sleep sweet wherever you are Eldae,
> 
> Raeyn

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Raeyn had rushed up the boarding ramp into the ship like her tail was on fire. She felt pretty sure that there were at least six other bounty hunters in this city who were desperately trying to corner her to get rid of their competition. She was torn between her normal “bring it on” attitude, and the feeling that she should avoid putting her crew in any unnecessary potentially harmful situations.

_Things were so much simpler when I was the only one I had to worry about._

The moment the thought crossed her mind she grabbed her chest from the ache that ran through her. No, she wouldn’t trade this overthinking for the loneliness she felt before. She was thankful to have people in her life who she felt the need to protect.

She slapped the panel to close the hatch, hit the intercom button and called out to tell Mako to take off immediately. She smiled when the engines revved up, preparing to lift. She was also insanely thankful to have such a lovely ship for her own.

She was thinking about the list of other things she was thankful for when she turned the corner and ran smack dab into one at the top of her list.

“Torian! Oh my gravy!” she backed up, a furious blush painting her cheeks pink, “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going!”

He laughed lightly, shaking his head, “No worries, wasn’t either.”

An awkward silence, one that they were both intimately familiar with at this point, settled over them. Torian had joined her crew almost two months earlier, and in that time Raeyn had learned a few things about him, and more about herself. Mainly that she was absolutely horrible at flirting. She’d tried. Her words still came out too…too…disconnected. She didn’t mean to be that way, but she never had really flirted with anyone—everything she’d said or done before in that context was contrived to elicit a particular response from the recipient.

She didn’t know what she was doing with Torian.

At all.

Torian finally broke the silence, his feet shuffling as he spoke, “Champion, do you think once we’re in clear space we could talk?”

Raeyn couldn’t stop her eyebrows from shooting up, “Ah, sure, that would be just…fine—when I am done I can—I’ll meet you…”

She had no idea what kind of talk Torian had in mind, so hesitated on the location.

“We can meet in the cargo hold?” Torian suggested, the words sounding like it wasn’t something he’d already decided was the perfect spot for a more private talk, the walls in the area layered more than any other walls in the ship in case you were transporting noisy cargo.

“Sure,” Raeyn nodded, shuffling past him, “See you in a bit!”

He nodded and watched as she walked with purpose to the front of the ship to finish giving Mako flight instructions.

Torian went back to the cargo hold where he’d arranged a makeshift table out of a crate and a parcel of fabric he’d found in one of the crates that had been there when Raeyn had “acquired” the ship. He’d set up two other crates on their sides for chairs. He settled onto the crate facing the door, crossing his feet out in front of him, leaning his back against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. Sleep had been restless the last few weeks for him.

He kept his eyes closed even though he heard the soft steps from Raeyn entering the hallway that was adjacent to the one that led to him. He smiled, thinking of how easily he could tell her apart from everyone else. Her steps were gentled, a small sound, no doubt something that she’d learned by necessity in her trade of work. If he weren’t the hunter he was, he’d never even hear her coming.

The sound of her taking a deep breath before turning the corner to enter the area tickled his ears. He couldn’t help but smile, she was nervous. His eyes popped open when she stepped into the room.

She stood still for a moment adjusting to the dimly lit area, then moved to sit down on the crate across from Torian.

“Like what you’ve done with the place,” she laughed, gesturing around and then her eyes stopped on the pallet on the floor, the blanket on top folded neatly, the pillow under it, and then some kind of padding below those, “Wait…are you….sleeping here?”

Her eyes cut across to study Torian who had sat up, his elbows on his knees leaning forward, “Moved in here a few weeks ago. Ever since we visited Belsavis—can’t sleep in the bunks.”

Her eyes narrowed considering this and then opened wide, “Skadge?”

He laughed, “Of course, she snores so loud I don’t know how anyone within a parsec of us can possibly sleep!”

She nodded, “I know, I am thankful my room is upstairs and on the opposite end of the ship. Though, I don’t think you should have to sleep in here…I don’t like it, you need rest, and you deserve to be comfortable. Though unfortunately, this ship only has a single private bedroom…”

His eyes seemed to twinkle, “Is that an invitation, Champion?”

Raeyn’s body produced a strange noise somewhere between a wounded varactyl and someone being choked to death before she managed to clear her throat, her eyes widened when he laughed at her softly.

“That’s what I wanted to talk about, actually,” he said lightly, his hands tapping the edge of the table with is fingers.

“About…my room?” She managed to say without sounding too petrified.

His entire body shook when he burst out laughing, shaking his head, “No, no…nothing like that…”

She couldn’t help but laugh then, all of the nervous energy bubbling out of her.

He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on her, “Actually, wanted to talk to you for a while. Been so busy…timing never felt right…but, I realized that if I keep waiting, we may never really talk.”

Raeyn sobered at the way the mood in the room changed suddenly, desperately searching his aura for clues.

“I just…need to know what this is,” his hands moved to gesture between the two of them, “you and me, what we’re doing.”

Forward. Blunt. Direct.

She should have been prepared for this. She wasn’t. She knew she looked like a thief caught with their hand in the coffer. She had no idea how to approach this, what to say, how to do this. Her hands flew up in front of her chest, shaking lightly as if to fan herself, her eyes wide and her voice lost. Slowly, as if to comfort a wild animal, Torian reached his hand out and took one of her shaking ones, drawing it to the middle of the table where he held it lightly, his eyes focused on hers.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, “I’m all of those feelings too.”

She took a shuddering breath, “You don’t look it.”

He shook his head, leaning closer, “Had a lot of years practicing to not let my feelings betray me.”

She nodded, understanding what he meant, sad that she did, wishing she could undo the past for him. She wanted to know everything about him, but those things seemed so painful for him, she never wanted to bring it up.

“The day you were named Champion—something…happened to me…don’t know what, but you _changed_ me. Need to understand it.”

“It’s complicated,” she rushed forward, her voice steadier than she thought it would be, “It’s a lot to take in, and I don’t want you to be overwhelmed…I’m not…good at this.”

She faded off, her mind reeling on how to handle this, wishing her brothers had talked more about the practical aspects of this whole thing.

“We can take it a little at a time?” He whispered, pulled her hand a little closer so she had to lean forward more, “Talk a little every day? You can share as much as you want, when you are ready…”

He took a deep breath and then pushed onward, the words coming out in a rush, “I want to know you, all of you, everything. Spend all this time with you, and yet I want _more_. I find new discoveries every day I am with you—want to know you, to have more with you—is that something you want too?”

She couldn’t speak—her heart was beating so wildly in her chest she could feel it outside of her body—and she wanted to use words to express how much she wanted that but just couldn’t seem to summon them—so instead she just nodded her head, squeezing his hand hard.

“Good,” he whispered, squeezing her hand back and then letting it go to pick up a small bag off the floor beside him, sitting it on the table in front of them, rolling it down to reveal brightly colored crystals inside of it, he couldn’t help but smile when her eyes lit up as the colors were revealed, “I’ll share too.”

He pushed the bag toward her, “These are a Mandalorian treat—they are called ‘worry crystals’—the idea is that if you put one in your mouth and let it dissolve slowly, by the time it is melted all of your worries will be gone. A pretty good trick for the younger Mando’ade.”

He gestured for her to take one. She wanted to take them all. They were so bright and cheerful, and they looked like chunks of colorful glass.

She reached out, not thinking about what she was doing, her hand running across the surface of the candies, touching them and feeling them. Leaning her head down to see how the light changed their color.

“I’ll go first…” he pushed the bag closer to her, then continued to speak, “I don’t speak basic very well. I…I take my time to think of the words. I know words but making them work doesn't come easy for me because I started learning it so late in life. I'd never had much use for it—was in the clan, we all spoke Mando’a exclusively when we were together. Didn’t meet many others…but I am going to learn to speak better...for you.”

Her hand stopped moving, her eyes darting up to see his, her breath caught in her throat at the idea he was willing to do anything at all to make her happy, let alone work on a language for her.

“I want to learn Mando’a,” she tilted her head at him, “so we will both be learning.”

He nodded, and before he could speak she burst out, “I don’t care if you can speak basic well, but honestly, I hadn’t noticed it. But…thank you…for that and for this.”

She tilted her head toward the bag, reaching forward, pulling out a purple one, drawing it in to sniff it…it smelled sweet. She popped it into her mouth, moaning when the taste of berries washed across her tongue, closing her eyes for a moment, taking it all in, before she opened them wide, practically shouting in her exuberance, “This is so good!”

She rolled it around on her tongue and tried to taste all of the different aspects of it, sounds of satisfaction echoing off the metal walls with each new discovery.

For his own sanity Torian had started counting the bolts on the wall behind her, as he’d learned to school himself when it came to Raeyn’s responses to things that she enjoyed. She savored them, she took her time, and she experienced _everything_ on a different level than other people. It was one of the things he most wanted to understand about her. That said, when she was especially enjoying something it was sometimes hard for him to stay focused because he found her exceptionally enticing during those moments—like her feelings were magnified to where he could experience them with her.

So far he’d counted twenty-eight bolts.

“I’ve just never tasted anything so **perfect**!”

_Thirty-five._

“Mmmmm,” she hummed lightly, her hand clenching on the table in front of her, “It’s smooth, but has these tiny little edges to it. It’s not like anything I’ve ever tasted before!”

_Fifty-three._

His eyes darted back to Raeyn when he realized she had went silent.

“What _are_ you doing?” She muttered, turning to look back behind her, finding nothing, she turned back to him, her expression quizzical.

He laughed, taking his hands and brushing them on his pant legs to wipe the sweat off of them, he knew he was blushing, something he rarely if ever did, but he couldn’t help it, realizing that given her odd nature of reading people, he’d never be able to play this off, “I was counting the bolts on the bulkhead.”

Raeyn’s eyebrow shot up, her mouth twisting trying to make sense of what he said, glancing back at the wall and then to him again, studying him for a moment, and then her entire body was suffused with the rush of embarrassment as she realized how carried away she had gotten over the candy. She tucked it to the side of her mouth, taking a deep breath, letting her head drop down.

“Don’t be like that,” Torian spoke boldly, “I’m...I'm fascinated by your responses to the world around you. I don’t want you to hide with me.”

“I don’t even mean to do it,” she whispered softly, her eyes still cast to the box between them, "It just always seems to happen with you."

“Like that the most,” he leaned his head down, attempting to catch her eyes, “You don’t do that with anyone else. Think it means you’re comfortable enough with me to be more _you_ than anywhere else.”

She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes shining, “That’s true,” she smiled, bright, happy under his observation, “I’m a work in progress though…I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

He laughed lightly, “I’ve noticed that you are very detached and cold. Calculated, and severe with everyone else apart from the people on this ship.”

She wanted to apologize, but realized he would scold her for it.

This was hard. She never talked about this with people. She’d spent years creating what often felt like a brick wall between her and other people to insulate her from the effect they had on her. Now, she stood on a precipice ready to dive into sharing _everything_ with this man. It was both thrilling and terrifying all at once. The idea of someone apart from her family taking the time to learn, to know her, to dive into the complexities of who she was—what she was…exhilarating.

At the same time, behind all of the pretty ideas rest a very real fear. Rejection. Not only did sharing herself expose her to the possibility of being completely vulnerable—a position she truly loathed—but he might not even care about her once he knew. She already felt so invested in him after such a short time, the idea caused a true physical pain inside her for a moment.

She heard Torian take a breath, his hand reaching up to touch his chest before she cast the negative feelings aside. He’d taken an incredible risk—coming here to her, leaving everything that he had known and truly loved—being a Mandalorian in a clan who protected him—and then one day just letting it go so that he could follow her. No, she couldn’t be afraid, it had no place here. This was one of the very few moments in her life where there was no room for restraint. She needed to dive into this and be real. If he rejected her it wouldn’t be because she wasn’t forthcoming enough with the truth about herself.

She attempted to explain, “I don’t…I don’t _do_ this.” She gestured between the two of them, then reached her hands together, wringing them in front of her as she spoke, “Talking to people. Explaining myself? Doesn’t happen. Apart from Mako, I don’t show who I am, not really, and even with her…there’s reservation, because I have a hard time trusting people…it’s a flaw, a serious one of mine, and one I know I have to get through if we are going to have a chance at this…whatever...this is.”

He reached to stop her hands from moving against each other, holding them in his own, moving his crate forward with his feet, bobbing toward her, until he’d scooched around the side of the box to where his knees were touching hers. Something like a nervous giggle bubbled up out of her, as the connection settled over her, and she leaned her head down, embarrassed.

“I’m here…don’t have to talk to me about anything you don’t want to, or aren’t ready to,” he squeezed her hands in his once, “I’m not going anywhere.”

She tried to simmer down, settle her nerves, but she was shaking, she could feel it in her bones.

“You can tell me the truth,” he whispered, sincerity lacing his words, “I will keep it safe.”

She took a shuddering breath, steeling her nerves, and then the words rushed out of her in a flurry, “I feel things stronger, harder than any normal person. Words, places, people, things—they affect me. It can be amazing, when it’s controlled, when I feel the positive—it’s beautiful—but when I am exposed to the negative, the ugly—it’s devastating. I spend weeks recovering. I isolated myself for a good part of my life to avoid the pain. It was overwhelming when I was younger. Torian, I have walls, thick ones, hard ones, impenetrable ones—because it is too hard if I don’t. I have learned to pretend. I have a public face, a persona—because acting is easy to do. I can control an entire environment when I am in character.”

She shook her head, her hands gripping onto his as she tried to come up with words to explain this.

“I’ve been alone a long time. I have a very wonderful family and they are the only people who have been on the inside of my circle for the longest time. I think meeting Mako prepared me for you. She broke through my walls so easily. She was real, and honest, and I never saw a lie in her. She shined with love, and I loved her back. Then you,” she looked up at him then, wanting to be honest, even though it was making her feel so raw and exposed, her body shook with the breath she took, “You showed up and I felt you…I feel you…different than anyone else.”

Torian released the breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding, her fear and discomfort causing the air around them to feel still and the space to feel small, he needed to know just one thing from her for today, and then he’d be satisfied, for now, “The thing happened to me, the day you were named Champion—is that part of what you are talking about?”

She laughed lightly, a bit of the stress falling away from her, the humor making her eyes crinkle, “I’m amazed you waited this long to ask me about that! I can’t believe the amount of self-control you have!”

She took a deep breath then, shaking her head, trying to gather her courage. Facing sith? Fighting monsters? Easy. Telling someone how you feel. Hard as hell. Her voice was surprisingly strong when she spoke despite her trepidation, “I know what you felt the day we first saw one another…I felt it as well.”

Her voice was soft and layered with emotion, “I have gifts, these abilities…really, everyone has them to different degrees, you know? That feeling that makes someone go a different direction than they planned? The uncanny ability to predict what your enemy is going to do next? Dumb luck? Not luck—ability—gift. People think being ‘force sensitive’ is an all or nothing kind of thing, but it’s not. Everyone has access to it—obviously, most on a very rudimentary level—but everyone has it, and could potentially learn to wield it—though, some people are born having gifts in the force that will always be stronger than others.  There are unlimited gifts, they take many forms. Some useful, others not so much. I can see the binds that draw people together. Like…literally, a glowing tether going from one person to another. In the same room or across the universe—I see it.”

Torian sat forward, his eyes serious, she looked at him thinking she would see something negative there, but his face held only concern, “Is that good? Or…not?”

She shrugged, “When I first began seeing them it was a novelty—I enjoyed it, waited for the connections to meet and then I reveled in the happy emotions. It faded after a while, I guess. It became harder and harder to watch the connections meet. I’ve spent a lifetime watching other people follow their tether…finding completion, peace, joy—and sometimes devastation—I’ve seen people cut them, violently, disregard them, completely ignore it—and all the time, every minute, everyday—I saw mine…bright and brilliant, ever glowing—always calling to me. It always had your….essence—from the start. I felt it the closer I came to you in the universe.”

She took a deep breath before she continued, so many words fighting to be shared, and knowing that explaining much more about it would just overwhelm him—she could see it in his aura already—this was just as complicated as she’d thought, and she wanted to be real but not at his expense.

Her voice solemn, sincere, her eyes connected to his, “I waited a long time for you, Torian.”

“Been waiting for you, too,” he whispered.

She pulled his hands forward until she had them grasped against her heart, closing her eyes for a moment to absorb the truth of the moment, and then released them, sitting back, rocking a little on her crate as she spoke, the topic making her insanely nervous. She was acutely aware he could still leave her running as fast as he could because he thought she was completely insane.

“What happened that day is called the “ai'nas'aer 'aerh'te”…it is translated in my native language as the “soul covenant”. It starts as a “soulbond” which eventually leads to the covenant.”

Her words were rushed, Torian rest his elbows on his knees leaning forward into her bubble, his attention fixated, “It doesn’t mean anything stupid, like you don’t have choices, or that you couldn’t have stopped it. The entire experience is layered in choices, and the universe accepts equally even when someone denies the bond…it happens…more than you could guess. When you say…yes, you agree, on the level of your soul—it maybe isn’t even something you know you did—but your soul _must_ agree.”

“I mean, I’ve seen hundred, if not thousands of souls who do not seek out their ai'nas'aer 'aerh'te—or even if they do find them, they don’t have the _spark_ —and without the spark it will always be a battle between them to create it—though with determination _they can_ make it happen. Sometimes, even if someone knows their soulbond—they can choose to deny it, to lock it away—and then the other person wouldn’t even know—not even if they are standing two feet away from each other. It’s selfish, the most selfish thing someone can do, to deny their soulbond. It takes the choice away from the other person. I’ve known people who did it…denied it and walked away.”

She laughed then, thinking about how she felt the closer she got to Torian, “I don’t know how anyone could ever do that.”

Torian nodded, his mind having drifted to the same memory as if it washed across him in a wave.

She knew it sounded crazy, but she was doing this, she’d already stepped out on faith so now that she was into it she charged forward, “Anyway, the tether—it shows the person who is your best match…as in...the singular someone in the universe who will make you better, stronger…whole…complete. I mean, it sounds like there is some kind of magic to it, but it’s nothing like that.”

She shook her head, taking a deep breath, “Okay, so maybe it’s _like_ magic—I don’t know, I don’t completely understand—it’s more than just something that can be explained really—it’s something other…it just IS. I can’t make more sense of it—it’s what it is, it doesn’t change. It’s universal. It’s just a fact. Your soul knows things you aren’t consciously aware of…it responds based on all of the information, not just the information _you_ are aware of. There is a spark, sometimes there’s not. It can be a challenge…I just…this is hard to explain…I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, hoping he understood her chaotic rambling.

“I’m sure you have questions?”

Torian sat very still for what seemed like a long time, mulling over what Raeyn had told him about the experience they’d had together, his mind running in circles, “Why would a soul say no?”

Raeyn’s eyes clouded as memories of broken tethers passed through her mind, her voice shaky, “I don’t really know…like I said, the soul knows things that your mind doesn’t. I sometimes think the soul has seen forward, maybe, and rebels against something that could happen? Or maybe it knows the truth of the past somehow? The best I can tell you is that there are two absolutes—the soul can make the decision to say no—and if the soul says no, it will _never_ work. It’s not possible. Likewise, the soul can say yes but your  i'taism'te, your presence—the collective name for the parts that make you who you are— _can_ deny the connection.”

Torian pondered that for a moment, and then asked the question that had been weighing so heavily on him, uncertainty overshadowing everything, “So…the tether doesn’t make anything actually…happen? It didn’t force us together, or make me feel this way?”

“No, the tether is basically a map—leading you to the person—what happens after that is all about you and your soul.”

He nodded as she continued, “The will can’t be overruled. Nothing in the universe has the power to do that. Even now—you could walk away—even knowing what you do about the bond. If you decided to walk away—you would be able to.”

His eyes widened at the thought, “I think I’d die.”

The truth of what he’d said made him look down, startled at his own bluntness, but it was true. He couldn’t imagine walking away from her, not now, not ever. She reached over to squeeze his hand softly, “I don’t think I’d survive either.”

He squeezed her hand back, his voice speaking knowingly, “Then that can be marked off your worry list, can’t it?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, her heart feeling lighter, I felt easier to talk—like the heavy stone that had been on her chest was tossed aside.

“So…souls?” he prompted her.

“Everyone refers to the “force” like it’s some mystical thing only a few people are privy to, which is wrong—it’s a living thing, and we are all connected to it…I know it as the “leitemae s’aer”—the “complete soul”…umm…souls, the part of us that exists apart from our physical form, are alive even when our bodies are not yet formed and alive even after these bodies would be gone. It’s like…ummm…a glove!”

She held her hand up in front of her, wiggling her fingers, reaching into her pocket to pull out one of the work gloves she’d tucked in there earlier when she’d done some tinkering with the engine, slipping it onto her hand.

“My hand is like the soul, the glove like our body. Without the hand, the glove would be empty—lifeless—same for the body—the soul is inside the body the way the hand is inside the glove. It is what makes the body alive. The hand can exist without the glove—the soul can exist without the body. Does that make sense?”

Torian nodded, his brows furrowed as he was deep in thought, “Perfect sense. Mandalorian’s believe the same…we believe all Manalorians are absorbed back into the Manda—it’s a collective soul. Not much different than what you are explaining…seems just the same apart from different words.”

Raeyn nodded, considering what she knew of the Mandalorian’s culture, she had to agree that their tenets of belief were just the same—only different languages setting them apart.

“You are Mandalorian.” Torian spoke firmly.

It was a statement, but also a question, she recognized this and responded as such, “Yes…but I still have a lot to learn.”

She looked down at this, embarrassed, as she had been given the honor of being adopted into the clan by Mandalore himself, but she was so unknowledgeable about actually _being_ a Mandalorian—and she’d not had time to do much research.

“You _are_ Mandalorian _already_. I’d be honored to help you learn what you want to know. We could start with your Mando’a.”

Absolute. Emphatic. She smiled.

Torian didn’t say this as a request. He said it as a fact, and Raeyn was relieved, she needed a teacher—and she knew he was a devout Mandalorian. She wanted to honor him by being the best Mandalorian she could be.

“I would appreciate that,” she meant it, smiling at him as she added, “Anything to spend more time with me, huh, Cadera?”

He laughed then, leaning over to pick up the bag of candy, his countenance relaxed, “Something like that.”

“Good,” she smirked, “I wouldn’t want to be alone in wanting to spend more time together.”

He had sealed the bag, and pulled one of her hands forward to set the bag into it, closing her fingers around it, smiling when she grabbed onto it and pulled it into her body as if protecting it from the world around it.

His words were laced with absolution.

“Not alone.”

_Not anymore, Cyare. Never again._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> Message-ID: <vkrp898540803klf903408959kf083l40f-ITM-ID-df38478292983sdk9238jt5ds6-234fls>
> 
> X-Mailer: IntergalacticTransmissionModule Galaxy/908907ujgf34234dfj34224-LOC
> 
> ITM-Version: 5.2.14
> 
> Encryption: STRICT.matrix4543458902.tracert.codeSECURE
> 
> Failsafe: TRUE-interception blocked.CONF-353354780Droid23lkiursdf-EmbassyEMK
> 
>  
> 
> To: Xayoimae Revel <ITM-ID-er8440983llkgldfk93fd349-954352>
> 
> Subject: You’d be proud of me!
> 
> Receipt: dkj3999ss490ssdf-s2stul
> 
> From: Raeyn Revel <ITM-ID-df38478292983sdk9238jt5ds6-234fls>
> 
>  
> 
> Well, we had our first “real” conversation about important things…sure, you know, we’ve talked but we’ve skirted around things a lot. I have realized that I basically suck at this whole thing. I can’t flirt—yes, I tried. It was horrible. I think it mostly makes him feel uncomfortable, so I have stopped trying. I mean honestly, who in the world lives this long and doesn’t know how to interact with someone of the opposite sex on any meaningful level? Apparently, just me.
> 
> Maybe I’ll try again when we know each other better, but for now it’s probably best I just say the truth—and while he startles sometimes by my bluntness—his aura still shines in response! So—anyway, about today! He asked about the bond—he knew, felt it of course—I actually told him it was impressive he’d waited this long to actually bring it up! Haha He wanted to know what it meant—if it meant he didn’t have a choice to find me and feel this way (whatever way it is, I hope it’s good!). I should have thought of him asking this and had an answer. As it was I just startled and told him NO! It’s nothing like that!
> 
> I tried my best to explain to him that the bond doesn’t really work that way—but I am not sure I did a very good job. I wanted to _show_ him, but I don’t think he’s ready for that yet.…I emphasized that it’s not possible for the will to be usurped. At all. :shrug: I don’t know if it made any sense to him or not to be honest, but he seemed to understand.
> 
> Eldae, where’s my manual on this? Kinda feel like I’m floundering along.
> 
> Sleep sweet!

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Why do I have to again, Ahdae'na?” Xaraeyn whined in the tone and manner that only a five-year-old could, with the kind of persistence and fortitude that only a father could have enough patience to endure, “I want to go play with the others. Please?” She drew out the word with her tiny eyelashes fluttering, her heart shaped pink lips bent into a pout.

“’Cause I said so, Tumble—now turn around and do it again,” her father’s voice was gruff, yet edged in a kind of tenderness that others would find impossible coming from an infamous pirate of his renown.

Her hands flew to her hips, her head bobbing slightly as she stared him down. Too brave for her age already, he wondered often how this was going to translate through her future. She was so full of life, and even more boldly filled with her Mother—she would be a force to be reckoned with—especially if he had anything to do with it—he'd see to it she could hold her own no matter who or what she faced in the galaxy in the future. He would in fact see to it that all of his children would be capable of much the same.

“Again, Tummy,” his voice was stern, pursing his lips to fight back the laugh that wanted to burst out at how much attitude his tiny girl held, looking at her through his brows, “Now.”

Xaraeyn stomped her foot on the ground, hard, a huff of air blowing her white hair off of her face, then pouted all the way back to the table, grabbing the blaster, turning to the target and firing off five rounds in a row in quick succession, actually having the audacity to turn her head so she could stare at her father as she triggered the last two. She set the blaster back down on the table, not even looking at the target or the results, stomped back over to her father, widening her stance, one hip jutted forward and her arms crossed, a scowl making her brows draw down.

“Can I go play now?” her voice was angry, flares of light bubbling and popping all around her as the air around her responded to her frustration.

“Go on then,” he muttered, gesturing to the side, somehow managing to hide his smile. 

She started to move away and then ran to hug her father’s leg tightly, “Daeh aer, Ahdae!” He reached down and ruffled his hand through her white hair, grunting softly, then smiling as she quickly ran across the yard to the pit where her siblings were playing.

Andronikos walked down through the range to pull the target off the mount, studying it.

Five clean shots, one single hole, all found their mark aligned in the center of the target. He shook his head, knowing that she was already light years ahead of professionals fifty times her age.

A light tinkling laugh sounded from behind him, his body stiffened.

“How long you been standing there, Sith?” he grumbled, turning on his heels to face her. She stood about five feet from him, his eyes sweeping from her feet to her smirking mouth, looking ridiculously domestic, hardly recognizable as a deeply feared Sith Lord, in her white flowing robes, layered to be loose and light with a gauzy kind of material, that the wind was wrapping around her legs, the high neck of her tunic making her eyes glow brightly as they reflected the blue sky.

“Long enough to know that she won that round,” she said lightly, glancing off in the distance at their children playing in the “playground” together. Of course, playground usually meant something other than what this truly was which was just another training ground dressed up to look like something entertaining. Whatever it took to prepare them for what lies ahead.

Andronikos let the paper float to the ground, as he quickly moved to close the space between them—reaching forward when she was close enough to grab her around the waist, sweeping her into his embrace for a slow, sweet kiss.

She laughed through it, pushing gently on his chest.

“Don’t you try to distract me,” she laughed, kissing him quickly before pointing at the paper resting on the ground beside them. He grunted in disapproval, trying his best to school his expression to look like she had insulted him.

“I think her training is done, Nikki, don’t you?”

He huffed lightly, resting his forehead on her shoulder, taking a deep breath, he whispered the truth, “I’m not ready for that.” He turned his head, lightly nibbling behind her ear, sucking gently on the skin there, smiling when her body pressed forward into him as if on its own accord. He knew all of her weaknesses.

His admission didn’t surprise her, since the moment Xaraeyn had been born she was his “Tumble”—nicknamed from the way she rolled and wallowed even as an unborn, and was practically uncontainable after birth.

“You know it’s not too soon to start Nikolaes on the training weapons?”

He stiffened and then pulled back, his arms still wrapped around her waist, leaning just far enough away to look into her eyes, “I dunno about that. He isn’t as disciplined as she was, and while Tumble may have some attitude issues, no thanks to you I might add, she’s not reckless, but Nikolaes…well, he’s just a little too driven by his passions for me to be ready to put a weapon into his hand.”

He looked past her at their children, “I’ll admit, that could be an advantage eventually, but with his temperament, I’m afraid he’d maim one of his siblings even with a modified piece.”

She scoffed, turning to watch their children play.

Their eldest son, Andronea was showing his twin brother Androxyn how to use the force to stop the staged droid from firing. Androxyn was learning quickly, his brother being an excellent teacher having an exceptional connection to foresight—he was still capable of anticipating his enemy’s responses without using it—something he had been teaching his brother. The two boys were nearly the same height and had the same build. She mused that they looked so much alike despite being seemingly different species. Genetics with her kind was a curious thing, often appearing to take an all or nothing approach to the design of their dna. One of them had manifest as a Rattataki, the other as a human—both of them looking completely identical apart from the color of their skin, and Androxyn’s black hair compared with his brother’s smooth, adorned head.

While the boys were intent on their own studies, they were also paying careful attention to their younger sister Xaraeyn who had rushed over after her lessons. Their eyes were cast cautiously on her as she climbed back and forth across the top of the ropes, then swinging down from one and moving across them upside down, then somehow flipping back over the top above them—both brothers ever watchful for her safety to be ready to catch her if she tumbled off of them—the nickname wasn’t without reason.  Both boys conscientious to not be noticed by Xaraeyn as they were spotting her—as though they both were ever the doting older brothers, protective, attentive, and without fear—Xaraeyn did not like to feel coddled or treated differently than them—and would be very angry at them for assuming she needed their assistance at all.

Xayoimea had been amazed as she watched her children grow, their abilities slowly showing themselves over time, some stronger than the others, all of them magnificent—and she knew as they grew more and more would blossom in them, surpassing what even she could imagine. She had no idea from the research she’d done how any of this would work, but she was overwhelmed daily at how much her children continued to teach her. About life, about living, about the force. They were sui generis, a set of individuals completely unique in the universe.

She felt the air around her move as she sensed Andronikos’ amusement, turning to look at her husband, who was grinning, his eyes bright as he watched their children.

Andronikos noted that it wouldn’t be long before they would have to replace the droid with a new one as the boys had reached an age and stage in their training that they were wielding the force with such precision it was entirely plausible they would be capable of defending themselves from a skilled opponent even at the young ages of eight. The current practice droids had seen much better days he mused.

Nikolaes was sitting with their youngest daughter, Xaya, in the sand pit. Nikolaes was almost four years old, and appeared to be human. He looked remarkably like his older brothers already, yet he had white hair, bright, shimmery in the sunlight. He was absently tossing metal rings onto the post thirty feet away from them without even appearing to look, while he was fixated on Xaya who was spinning her hands, tiny whirlwinds spouting in the sand near her at her command.

“He loves them, he would never hurt them,” she commented, taking a moment to study Andronikos’ face further while he was absorbed in their children, “What is your true concern Nikki?”

He turned to her then, a flash of pain and uncertainly shadowing his blue eyes, “He is too much like me, Xay, it terrifies me.” He looked back at his fourth born, sincerity filling his words, “I made a lot of mistakes, did a lot of things I am not proud of, might have earned me a reputation, but I sold my soul in the process. I don’t want any of them to have to compromise like that. Especially not Nikolaes, because whatever’s in him that he got from me and my twisted genetics—well, it might be exactly what I wish he hadn’t.”

“Oh, stop that!” Xayoimae clucked her tongue, completely dismissive of his concerns, “You are a far better man than you ever give yourself credit for, Andronikos, in fact, extraordinary, because let’s face it, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you otherwise. The truth is, he IS like you, and I absolutely love that he is. Besides, we are _teaching_ him, and we are even telling those children about our own flaws and mistakes so they can learn from them. He is the _BEST_ parts of you, my dear, it is your past ghosts making you think otherwise.”

He stared at her, his face slowly softening until he was smiling broadly, “Is that so?”

She leaned forward, and up on her tiptoes, her hands pressed into his abdomen, her lips barely touching his, “Absolutely.”

“I’m not convinced,” he whispered, his lips tickling hers as he spoke.

“I think I can probably convince you, given the right motivation…”

“I’ll give you the right motivation,” he laughed deeply, picking her up and pitching her over his shoulder, her squeals drawing the attention of the children who laughed brightly at their parents as they crossed the yard, gathering to them as he set Xayoimea down in the pit with them.

“I’ll be giving you all the motivation you need later,” he whispered in her ear, slapping her behind.

She blushed lightly, the blue tinge of her skin becoming purple in the way that he found utterly delightful and irresistible. He groaned softly, narrowing his eyes at her before he scooped Xaya, a tiny little bundle of a child at two years old, up into his arms, spinning her in the air as her giggles sounded through the valley. Andronikos didn’t have favorites among their five children—as each of them were singularly unique and lovable in their own way—but he had great affection for Xaya and the fact that she was a tiny little miniature of his lovely wife. She was so slight and quiet—she was easily overlooked—but she had such love in her, it emanated from her and they enjoyed being close to her to feel the overflow.

“Who found their gift today?” Xayoimea asked the children, smiling broadly at them, already knowing the answer.

“I did!”

“Me!”

“I have mine!”

Andronea stood silently, his hand clearly clenched around the stone he had discovered, but not feeling any need to compete for his Mother’s attention—he knew she already knew what he had found. Her eyes flashed to his, a small grin crossing her face as his face broke with a lovely smile.

Xaya was out of breath and her eyes were bouncing back and forth when Andronikos set her down in front of her mother, swaying lightly, her tiny voice full of excitement, “I did Eldae'na--look, it’s PINK!”

She opened her fist that had been tightly clasped around the small stone that shimmered and cast colorful light on her white dress.

Xayoimea sat on the ground in front of Xaya, all of their children gathering around. They each crawled over her, or leaned into her, bubbling with excitement, her eyes wide with wonder at them as they regaled her with their adventures while hunting for their treasures, revealing the beautiful stones to her with delight and joy punctuating every word. They showed her all the ways the light reflected, how it seemed to change this color and that depending on how you held it to the sky.

She spent the time marveling over each of them until Xaya climbed into her lap, sitting down with her back against her, melting into her—feeding off of her energy, off of the love between them, her body shining slightly with a white glow—her smooth head rubbing against Xayoimea’s chin, soft and tender. She reached around her daughter and pulled her closer, snuggling into her, the giggles making her close her eyes.

When Xaya gushed, “Look, Eldae’na, look!” Xayoimea opened her eyes to the two tiny hands held up in front of her face with the tiny pink stone held in it, Xaya’s head tilted back to see if the stone met her mother’s approval.

“That is quite lovely, my darling!” Xayoimea grabbed her, tilting her sideways so she was laying down in her arms, the stone between them, lightly peppering her small face with kisses as she bubbled over with laughter, wiggling this way and that. Xayoimea rubbed the tip of her nose against her daughter’s, who set the stone down on her dress, then reached up with her hands and placed one on each of her Mother’s cheeks, smiling brightly.

“What do you feel when you touch it Xaya?”

The little girl closed her eyes, her tiny face scrunching up in concentration, grabbing the stone with one hand and then holding it tightly, her other hand still resting on her mother’s face—her body was very still and yet, still very relaxed in her arms.

“I feel warm!” her face burst into a smile, her cheeks bright with the warmth that was infusing her body.

“Do you dear?” her Mother reached out to stroke her cheek with her free hand.

“I do! I see lines and symbols, Ae’na--.”

Xaya’s eyes popped open, bright and white and stared at her Mother’s face, her fingers crawling across her cheek to the symbols that formed a line down her face like a stream of tears, “they look like these, Ae’na…”

“I see,” Xayoimea smiled at her daughter, drawing her in to snuggle her, looking at Andronikos who had been taking in the conversation—a knowing smile passing between the two of them.

“They make me feel warm and happy,” the little girl wiggled in her mother’s lap, her attention drawn across the pit where the two eldest boys were taking turns jumping into the largest tree found there, to see who could reach the tallest limb.

Xayoimea’s arms clasped tightly around Xaya when she heard the cracking noise followed by Xaraeyn’s screams. Xaya darted out of her arms and ran toward her sister who was laying on the ground before she could take a single breath. Xayoimea stood up where she was to understand what had happened…Xaraeyn was laying on the ground under the tree, one of her legs bent oddly, clearly indicating multiple fractures.

Xayoimea stopped Andronikos from running past her to their daughter, “Wait, Nikki,” she grabbed his hand squeezing it gently, “ _please_ , just wait a moment.”

The other siblings had gathered around their crying sister, each of them talking to her trying to comfort her in their own way—and then Xaya sat down on the ground, putting her hand across Xaraeyn’s forehead.

“Shhh, Sissy,” she whispered while the older girl still cried, “let me.”

Xaya sat still like a statue—her tiny body glowing brightly with white, and yellow, and pinks and purples as she transferred her energy and wholeness to her sister. Nikolaes reached out to their youngest sister, propping her up as she started to wobble, then sat down behind her, setting his chest against her back, giving her support, his own body trembling as he reached into the force trying to strengthen his weakening sister.

“Nikki, you’re crushing my hand,” Xayoimea whispered, he dropped her hand immediately.

“We should do something!” he grumbled, shuffling his feet in the dirt.

“We are, darling,” she reached over and touched his cheek his expression serious and worried, “we _are_.”

By the time she glanced back to the children they were all gathered around Xaraeyn, each of them touching one another, all of them glowing different colors and strengths, all of them supporting the other.

Andronikos reached out beside him, drawing Xayoimea to his side, holding her firmly against him, the worry that was etched on his face replaced with wonder and joy.

“Would you look at that….” He smiled through the words, “they’re doing it.” He closed his eyes, Xayoimea watching him.

She reached out and pulled his face to hers, leaning into him, “Don’t you dare,” she laughed lightly, kissing him softly, “They do not need your help.”

He shrugged, “I can still feel her pain, Xay…”

“Wait,” she hugged him gently, “just a few more moments, I promise.”

Sure enough, within a few minutes the children were all laying in a laughing, giggling, tickling, pile of silly, each of them both exhausted and exhilarated by their experience. Xaraeyn was testing her leg, bending and flexing her muscles and putting weight on the bone. It was mended completely. Young bones were far easier to repair than aged ones. Their abilities were also amplified by the Aim’te, they would lose some of their effectiveness the further they traveled from it—and Xayoimea knew she would need to counsel the children on those kinds of truths eventually—but for now, she was thrilled with what they had managed to do. They were far more powerful than she could have ever imagined.

Suddenly, Xaraeyn began crying again, and no matter what Xayoimea might have done there was no stopping Andronikos from rushing to her, scooping her up and checking her for fresh injuries. She had tears streaming down her face, her siblings standing up then to try and see what was wrong with her.

“What happened Tumble? Where are you hurt?”

“I couldn’t do it, Ahdae,” she cried out between sobs, her body shaking from the force of her tears.

Andronikos immediately understood, she had been trying to do what her brothers were doing by force jumping into the tree and didn’t quite make it. He huffed, lowering himself to the sand with her still in his arms, the other children crawling to him and touching him, sitting close to listen as their mother came and sat with them, her knees touching their Father’s, creating a circle, with Xaya and Nikolaes crawling into her lap. Andronea and Androxyn sat on each side of their parents, their hands touching each of their knees.

Suddenly the sky above them became darkened, and rain began to wisp in the air around them, slowly building into a heavy downpour. Xaya reached her hand upward, creating an arc of energy to keep the area they were sitting in dry. Andronea reached over tapping Xaya, casting his hand up higher, creating a larger arc to keep the entire area dry—Xaya smiled at him, dropping her hand.

“I thought I was strong enough to do it, but I couldn’t,” Xaraeyn got out between sobs. Before either of the parents could respond Andronea, still holding the arc above them, leaned forward into Xaraeyn’s line of vision, “I couldn’t do it ‘til I was two years older than you, don’t be discouraged—you did really well!”

“You certainly did, Xaraeyn,” her mother spoke softly, “Besides, your best qualities may never be your ability to move like your brothers, you already have many gifts they lack, and so they have many you may never have, just as you are able to use a blaster with your eyes closed.”

Xayoimea glanced up at the rain, then looked pointedly at Xaraeyn, “Deep breath, one, two, three.” When she reached three, Xaraeyn’s body shuddered with a deep breath trying to calm down. Her siblings reaching out to touch her.

“Yeah, if I tried to do that, I would probably shoot myself in the foot!” Androxyn rolled his eyes with mirth, touching his sister’s hand.

They all laughed together, Xaraeyn trying to laugh through her tears. The rain slowed, and Xayoimea had kept firm eye contact with Xaraeyn, repeating, “Another, one, two, three.”

Xaraeyn took another deep breath, her face clearing a bit as her mother leaned forward, “Focus on me, reach out Xaraeyn, focus.”

Something happened in that moment that neither mother nor child would ever forget. It was the first time they connected in the force between them. The rain stopped, clouds dissipating as quickly as they had formed, bright sunshine casting shadows around them, chasing away the moisture. Xaraeyn leaned forward from her father’s arms, her hands clasping around her mother’s neck tightly, her body shaking with happiness and excitement.

No words were spoken, no words were necessary. Love flowed freely between the two of them, and in return the rest of the family glowed softly as they felt the beauty of their energy.

When Xaraeyn loosened her grip and leaned back into her father’s chest Xayomea pushed her hands forward, using the force to slide them apart, opening a circle in front of them, she gently lifted Xaya to sit in front of her, and Andronikos gestured for Xaraeyn and Nikolaes to sit in front of him. Once the children were sitting in the circle—their mother’s hand moved in a sweeping motion to smooth the sand out over the surface, then a single line was drawn leading from each of them to a circle that appeared in the middle. The children were wide eyed as they watched their mother’s actions.

“This is a good time for a reminder and a new lesson—you are each _unique_ , each created with your own personality, strengths and weaknesses—your life is meant to help you figure them out and grow those qualities, not try to fit the same mold as each other. I know it’s very hard, but you have to remember, what you CAN do, no one else can do the same way you do. Do you understand?”

Small circles appeared at each of their feet, connected to the line in front of them. Andronea reached out and placed the stone he had found into the circle on instinct. The other children watched him and then followed his lead, placing each of their stones into their circle.

Xayoimea stood up, her eyes shifting to look at Andronikos, who was smiling at her, she nodded, lifting her hand up and a ball of light glowing on top of it. She gestured forward and the light moved to float in front of Andronea.

“The soul is complex and requires multiple parts to make a whole. Hteotai, or Tai, means, ‘nature’—the personality—the part of what makes a soul firm in conviction and resolution. Tai is the head, the leader, the strength. Full of knowledge, the power of Tai is unique—both amazing and dangerous—both a blessing and a curse. Tai is the connection between the parts, keeping them as one no matter where they are.”

Xayoimea had moved to stand behind Andronea, her hand resting softly on his head, “You are Tai.”

Andronea’s eyes widened, his cheeks brightening, as he leaned backward to look up to see his Mother, her face lit up with happiness, she leaned forward kissing his forehead softly. She moved to stand behind Nikolaes.

“Saehrle, or Sae, means, ‘shadow’—the secret parts, the ones that are kept hidden and unknown by all but the soul—capable of moving in the darkness, and with a keen sense of other’s true nature—Sae is both quiet and bold, the passionate part of the soul—yet vital to the success of the soul as a whole—for without his understanding of the dark parts none can understand the light.”

She squatted down and leaned around Nikolaes to place a kiss on his cheek, “You are Sae.” She stood and moved to stand behind Xaraeyn.

“Ai’nas’aer, or Aer, means, ‘innersoul’—the vital spark—the piece of the soul that feels, that knows, that sees, that touches, that experiences. The Aer balances the others—bringing better understanding to their actions, to the worlds around them, to help the other parts of the soul stay humble and fearful of their very nature and the power they contain. Volatile, impulsive, yet wistful. While the deep feelings of the Aer can be a beautiful experience, they can also be overwhelming if you are not capable of handling them properly—the Aer depends on the other parts of the soul to help control the effects of the spark.”

She leaned down, stroking Xaraeyn’s cheek softly, Xaraeyn turned her head, a tear sliding down her cheek as she nodded, “You are Aer.” Xaraeyn leaned her head into her Mother’s hand and then lifted her head to smile at her. Xayoimea moved to stand behind Androxyn.

“Hem-teeom, or Eom, means ‘true name’—or the definition of who the soul is, what they truly stand for—with so many varied parts to make a whole, there needs to be a place of balance—of truth—sometimes harsh—always beautiful. The Eom gleans discernment from among the other parts and they can tell to the whole the simple truth of what they see and know. The Eom can read others, can see the truth in others, as well as the false—and brings to the soul the balance of light and dark.”

She touched the top of Androxyn’s head softly, ruffling his hair, “You are Eom.” She pulled his chin up with her hand to press a kiss on his forehead, then moved to stand behind Xaya.

“Aemhe’te, or Aem, means ‘heart’—or the part of the soul that is love. Closely intertwined with the Sae, the Aem relies on the other parts to make sure it sees what is clouded through the light—to balance her. Aem forgives, loves deeply, cherishes everyone and longs to do right and bring good into the world. Aem personifies the face of love—and she takes the hard edges of the other parts of the soul and softens them, gives them a gentle vision to temper the painful parts of themselves.”

She moved to her knees behind Xaya, who had turned sideways to look at her, eyes wide and full of hope, “You are Aem.”

Xayoimea gestured to the circle in between the children where they turned to see the stones by their feet glowing brightly.

“The stones reflect your own energy, yours alone. They are impacted by your power. You effect these stones the same as you effect the very universe around you—both for good and bad. Close your eyes, and feel.”

Each of the children did as their mother had asked, reaching out to the force around them, their breathing slowing as they went deeper and deeper into the ether, their bodies completely still for a few minutes and then slowly Andronea rose up on his knees, his body lifting upward as if something was being drawn from the middle of his chest. He groaned softly, as if in some kind of pain. Within seconds, Androxyn’s body lifted up, followed one by one by each of their siblings until all of their bodies were lifted, and then the stones at their feet slowly rose from the circle and moved forward to the inner circle, gliding through the air until they were floating a few feet above the sand.

A bright beam of light formed from the children’s chests, pulling them further up and forward as it drew out of them to connect to their stone in the middle of them. As each stone lit up brightly with the reflection of each child’s power, the children’s sounds moved from pained to soft humming and sighs as they learned how to temper the feelings they were having.

“Now, _feel each other_ ,” Xayoimea whispered softly, a tear drifting slowly down her cheek as she felt her children’s souls laid bare before her.

The area around them began to glow as if they were being lit up from the inside—and all five of the stones began to spin and twirl, the children finding comfort in the moment, opening their eyes, marveling at what was happening. The stones spun with lights shimmering and glowing, casting soft reflections across the area. They sped up until they were just a colorful blur, beautiful and terrifying all at once, and then a bright white flash made them all close their eyes, pitching them backwards, each of them adjusting themselves, trying to sit up, eyes popping open. The stones were slowly moving back in front of their owner, hovering in front of them.

“Go on,” Xayoimea encouraged, moving to sit down between Andronea and Xaya.

Andronea reached out and pulled the blue stone into his hand, his body stiffening for a moment, eyes clenching shut as his hand clasped it, an unexpected wash of connection rushing through him, such power imbued into the stone as he had never known. He felt what his siblings felt. All of the emotions, all of the feelings, all of the truths and the hardest parts of what made them who they were, all at once. His eyes popped open to seek his Mother’s—and she pulled him to her, hugging him tightly as he began to weep, trying to absorb the feelings he was having.

The other children each took their stones, the same response burning through them, as they moved to embrace their mother, Androxyn moved to lay his head on Xayoimea’s knee, his tears falling onto her white gown as his hands clasped the fabric under his head. Xaya scrambled into her lap, her hand laying on Androxyn’s cheek, her tears bold and strong, her body wracked by them but her hands moving across the others, trying to touch all of them at once.

Suddenly Xaya turned and looked back at Raeyn who was still and silent, glued to the same spot on the ground she had been, her fist in front of her, white from the strength she was clasping her stone with. Xaya grabbed Nikolaes’ hand as she moved out of her mother’s arms, moving toward Xaraeyn. Andronea noticed what was happening, looking at Xaraeyn, her expression pained, the air around her still, as the first sob burst through, a loud wailing sound emanating from her tiny body. Xaya had crawled over to her then, her hand firm as she reached out so she and Nikolaes could touch her, pulling her into them as her body convulsed from the power of what she was experiencing. Suddenly, the wind was blowing wildly around them, the trees above them bending over as if bowing to her.

Xayoimea looked up at the sky, dark, black, light flashing between the newly formed clouds. Thunder roared above them as if angry and tortured. Leaves and sand began to swirl around them, violently dancing on the air, pelting their faces, their exposed skin.

“Sith.” One word spoken from Andronikos, his face pained, drawn with the emotions he was feeling in response to Xaraeyn’s—he’d pulled her into his lap, trying to talk to her softly, her eyes closed, hands clenched, her body tight and bundled in a ball, a noise of discomfort the only sound she was making.

All of the children were touching Xaraeyn now, their bodies glowing softly, Nikolaes was groaning as he allowed some of the overflow to pass into him instead of pushing power to her. His eyes clenched shut…his body shaking at the force of what he was sharing with his sister.

Xayoimea closed her eyes, reaching forward, focused on easing her daughter’s pain, explaining to her.

_This is part of your burden as the innersoul, my sweet child. You will always feel more, see more, experience more than the others. It is part of you, but you will, in time, learn how to control this aspect of your power. It will not always be like this—and equally it will never be easy or simple. Embrace the parts that are causing you pain—they lose their power over you when you give them room to be set free. Don’t fight them, they are as much a part of your life as the beautiful parts. Introduce the dark parts to the lovely, beautiful, light parts. You must teach them to harmonize. No one else can do it._

Xaraeyn’s body slowly loosened, minutes passing as the other children glowed, sending her their own positive energy. Eventually, her cries subsided as the air around them calmed, the sky clearing, and then her green eyes popped open, her eyes landing on Nikolaes’, who reached out to touch her face, a tender smile breaking his serious countenance.

“You did it, Sissy,” he held his hand still on her, pressing his happy emotions forward to her, the other hands of her siblings moved softly on her skin, comforting her, expressing love to her.

Xayoimea felt the tension ease out of her body, her eyes absorbing the picture in front of her. Her husband holding their daughter, their other children protecting her, sheltering her. In one picture she saw all that she truly loved, and felt a warmth flow across her skin from the light that she was creating.

“You each gave a gift to the other. The stones hold the gift. No matter where you go in the universe, no matter how far apart—you will each carry a part of the others with you. The feeling you had was the manifestation of the gift and it is a holy, spiritual thing. The words you see behind your eyes are as old as all of time. You are each a part of something far greater than just yourselves. Your strength by yourself will never compare to the strength of you together.”

She couldn’t help but smile as her eyes were drawn to her husband’s knee where a pile of hands sat stacked together, all of their children reaching out to touch one another. Wanting to prolong the feeling they were sharing as long as possible.

She wished in her heart they could stay this way forever.

But time marches on.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The ship was drifting outside of a new planet they had been sent to for some operation or another. Nikolaes was not one for the details, trusting his crew to handle everything and then brief him on it. He had spent a bit of time flirting with Raina--fairly innocently all things considered--as she was a sweet girl, and he really didn't plan to pursue anything with her. He might be a cad, but he wasn't cruel. She deserved someone better than him, no one actually deserved someone like him, if he was perfectly honest, thus his decision to remain flying solo and satisfying his own needs his own way was working for him so far.

He was in the middle of a question about what order they were in for docking when he felt something hunting him, coming for him across space and time. He could feel it rushing toward him from somewhere beyond the ship--like a storm brewing and moving wildly toward its destination of destruction.

_Raeyn._

_No._

His entire body instantly broke out into a sweat, his fists clenched as a feeling began in the pit of his stomach, and then suddenly, he flew backward, bouncing off of the console, and then crashing into the floor, the ship echoing with his screams.

His body was being mutilated...his skin stripped bare, his organs ripped through his skin. At least, that's what it felt like to him, he was hysterical from the pain, and was screaming out to his family, begging, his body writhing on the floor.

Somewhere beyond him, he heard his crew, they were screaming, saying things he couldn't hear or understand or something, all he knew was darkness, it was so dark. He felt something pulling him from inside his body, as if the innermost parts of himself were being leeched from his skin. He was lifting up off the ground, his body bent upward in an arch as light pulled from him, streaming out dissipating into the ether.

His screams were long and deep and mournful, as he felt the bond being severed, and then it was gone.

**_Completely._ **

His body dropped from five feet up, crashing down to the metal floor below him, his screams now from the missing pieces, the empty place inside of him...he slapped hands away from him, crawling to the console, his face red from the ache, tears streaming down his face, sobbing as he crawled.

His hand reached up, frantic on the buttons, trying to enter the right code, and then, the holo blinked and flashed and then his father was screaming at him over the holo.

"Damn it, hang on a minute Niko, just a minute, breathe son, breathe!"

He could hear his mother in the background, he'd never heard anything like it, ever. He'd tortured people, he'd done the most inhumane, cruel and horrific things to people through his life, and he'd never heard a sound like this--was he making that same sound? Were those his own screams or hers?

His sister's name echoed through the connection like a living breathing element--his mother screaming her name, it was drawn out, like the very soul of her was being wrenched from her mother’s hands as he listened. She was screaming for his father then, and he was gone, and everything, it was gone. His mother’s cries were like fingers scratching through his skin, he grabbed around his chest as if to hold the pieces in place, shaking, rocking on the floor sobbing.

The console was blinking, incoming call, it was from the Jedi Council—Xaya…no. How could she bear this? He heard Vector talking to someone, he thought It was Andronea but he couldn’t be sure. It sounded like him, but without a tone, without an expression, blank. Empty like him.

“We understand. We will do what you have advised and see you soon.”

His father was back on the console again and he tried to hear him, tried to listen, but he couldn't hear him, his senses were shutting down, he was fading, the air around him felt thick and he thought maybe he was actually dying.

He knew something was happening, made out words about where they were going, felt the ship hit hyperspeed, and then he was done, the world faded black, the last thing he heard before the darkness swallowed him whole was his father's voice.

"Something's happened to Raeyn."

_Please no._

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how much I absolutely ADORE all of my readers? I do. SO MUCH. You give me a passion to continue to write and I enjoy your enthusiasm and kudos and read counts and reviews and comments SO VERY MUCH! Thank you, I am humbled by your favor!
> 
> __________________________________________________________________________
> 
> Notes on the parts of the soul:
> 
> I based this on the theory from Ancient Egypt that there are five parts to the soul. I'm an ancient history buff and love to learn about cultures and people so it was pretty awesome to get to replicate a little of that here--and through out the rest of the story as well--with minor adjustments. An explanation:
> 
> Andronea Personality *Ba Nature: hteotai [huh TAY oh TIE] Tai [TIE]  
> Androxyn Name *Ren True Name: hem'teeom [him tuh EE OHM] Eom [EE OHM]  
> Xaraeyn Vital Spark *Ka Innersoul: ai'nas'aer [EYE nayce AIR] Aer [AIR]  
> Nikolaes Shadow *Sheut Shadow: saehrle [SAY her lay] Sae [SAY]  
> Xaya Heart *Ib Heart: aemhe'te [AIM hey tay] Aem [AIM]  
> ____________________________________________________________  
> Translations:
> 
> ai'nas'aer 'aerh'te [EYE-nace-AIR AIR-huh-tay] the culmination of the soulbond, literally means innersoul covenant
> 
> i'taism'te [EYE-TIE-sim-tay] presence
> 
> leitemae s’aer [LEET-aye-MAY say-AIR] complete soul
> 
> cyare [SHAH-ray] beloved, loved, popular
> 
> Ahdea'na [AH-day-NAH] Father, Dad
> 
> Eldae'na [EL-day-NAH] Mother, Mom
> 
> daeh aer [DAY air] Thank you
> 
> *Ahdae [ah-DAY] A more affectionate term than the use of Daddy–less juvinile–with full appreciation of who your parent is and what they mean to you


	10. Seriously

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pronunciation Guide for Character Names:
> 
> Xaraeyn [ZAY rain]  
> Raeyn [rain]  
> Xayoimea [ZAY oh ME]  
> Brii [BREE]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few things--there is another part in here that I did not supply pronunciations or explanations for--as it is given directly after it is spoken. =o)
> 
> Just a couple of translations in this chapter, as always they are available on pop-up here or you can get them here:
> 
> Tumblr Post: http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/post/152100991296/the-pages-between-chapter-10-seriously
> 
> Chapter Playlist:

* * *

 

 

 

 

> And slowly I begin to realize this is never gonna end  
>  Right about the same time you walk by  
>  And I say 'Oh here we go again' oh
> 
> Every time I try to talk to you  
>  I get tongue-tied  
>  Turns out that everything I say to you  
>  Comes out wrong and never comes out right
> 
> So I'll say 'why don't you and I get together and take on the world and be together forever  
>  Heads we will and tails we'll try again  
>  So I say why don't you and I hold each other and fly to the moon and straight on to heaven  
>  Cause without you they're never going to let me in
> 
> **Why Don't You & I--Santana**

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

> Message-ID: <c5f7e12fgdsf4c1ab73bd423239c2-ITM-ID-df38478gdfgasdk9238jt5ds6-234fls>
> 
> X-Mailer: IntergalacticTransmissionModule Galaxy/89er72o8974edjfog883-LOC
> 
> TM-Version: 5.2.14
> 
> Encryption: STRICT.matrix342399283.tracert.codeSECURE
> 
> Failsafe: TRUE-interception blocked.CONF-382882340Droid23fjdfks-EmbassyALD
> 
>  
> 
> To: Xayoimae Revel <ITM-ID-er8440983llkgldfk93fd349-954352>
> 
> Subject: This is so hard!
> 
> Receipt: 3443lsdk553lf-s2stul
> 
> From: Raeyn Revel <ITM-ID-df38478292983sdk9238jt5ds6-234fls>
> 
>  
> 
> Hey! Not much going on here—shooting people, making money, spying, cheating and stealing. Haha Most of that’s not true…but you know…I do what I have to do! I’m sure you’d love a detailed report on all of my activities, but mostly I’ve been working like I am supposed to and then in my downtime—I mostly spend with Torian. He’s been with our crew for almost six months now. Torian and I have talked every single night before we turn in—it’s my favorite part of every day! Last night I told him that I was different. He laughed and said he’d been around me enough now to have noticed haha He wasn’t even a little bit odd about it and his aura was just pure and kind and truly curious.
> 
> So I told him that I was something _other_. I’ve never really thought about the fact that there’s no name for what we are…that would have been handy. Talking to Mako about these things was easy—I guess because she’s like my little sister…and Gault, simple, he doesn’t want to know more than he has to and doesn’t question anything I do haha He’s a good guy, I can’t wait for you to meet him! Blizz doesn’t even notice anything, and Skadge, well, just God love her—she’s just not going to care about anything unless she is getting to mutilate them. She stays on the ship a lot which is just fine by me.
> 
> Anyway, I tried to explain in a way that wouldn’t terrify him that I wasn’t completely human. He didn’t even change. Nothing, his aura was still the same, and steadfast, and I was surprised it didn’t shock him. He told me that he had a feeling that was true. I dunno how he knew unless it was part of the bond—because I have tried to be REALLY careful about my powers. Though I guess the bond does change things, maybe?
> 
> He asked me about you and Ahdae. I told him that Ahdae was a human being, and asked him if he’d heard of him and he HAD! Haha Revel infamy runs rampant in the Mandalorian culture apparently! He is quite revered! Don’t let him get a big head about it! Then I told him that you were a Rattataki, which I admit, he was confused about haha of course! But then I said in the clearest way I could, that you were not a normal “being”—that you also aren’t an alien. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to explain this to someone.
> 
> Is there a book or something I should share with him?

 

* * *

 

 

Mand’alor took a deep breath trying to be patient with the room full of people—not a simple task given her personality which generally resorted to blasting someone’s face off if they backtalked, versus actually trying to be civil and cooperative. This had nothing to do with her position as Mand’alor and more to do with her position as a woman who had a strong drive to prove herself to the world outside the clans she was born into. It really wouldn’t be her fault if she lost it and killed them all—since none of them were actually invited to be there in the first place. The Sith and her husband were one thing but their…apparent granddaughter and her husband where an entirely new issue.

“Look, this is real simple,” Brii said very slowly as it to help everyone understand, though her eyes were fixed on Mand’alor causing her to stand up straight and cross her arms in defiance, “you create a distraction and we’ll move Ahdae onto my ship, we haul jets, no one here sees or hears anything, all simple like, ya see?”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of ‘distraction’ I would have to provide that would make it so the entire camp looks away so that you can smuggle him out, short of blowing it up entirely—which for obvious reasons is simply out of the question,” Mand’alor leaned forward across the table, resting on her elbows, staring at Brii, “I am open to suggestions of course.”

Brii stood up, all of her five feet of sass clear and present, huffing lightly, “We all got our roles to play—I figured out this much, you telling me you can’t handle the rest? I’m disappointed, the stories I heard of Mandalorians seem grossly exaggerated now.”

Mand’alor stood up abruptly, her feet spread in a fighting stance, hand resting on her blaster, her eyes narrowing, “Don’t challenge me, child.”

Brii rolled her eyes, huffing, “First off, don’t call me ‘child’—I’m likely older than you are, secondly, I’m not and won’t be intimidated by you and your clan—so don’t even try that nonsense with me.”

Mand’alor bristled, moving to walk around the table when Andronikos stepped forward off of the wall he’d been leaning against for the last half hour. Before he could get there Corso had stepped in front of Mand’alor, his body bowed forward as if he were going to attack her at any moment.

“I don’t care who you are, you could be the Emperor himself, I’m not gonna let you mistreat my wife,” he spoke, his voice firm, steady, and his hand resting on his hip, prepared to grab his blaster, “I got no problem bringing Scarlett into this.”

His eyebrow raised up, challenging Mand’alor. She huffed, exasperated, “Who the hell is Scarlett!?” Her hands gestured around the room exaggeratedly.

Corso ran his hand down his hip, stroking the gun as he tapped the side of it to draw Mand’alor’s attention to his current favorite blaster, a lovely red beauty. The corner of his mouth drew up into a smirk when he heard Brii huff loudly behind him, both at his penchant for naming his guns like they were women, and also for inferring she actually needed him to step into this fight any more than she needed her grandfather to. That said, he knew she loved it, and wouldn’t actually complain about the men in her life being willing to stand up for her.

When Mand’alor figured out what he was referring to, she laughed a bitter laugh, “I swear to the Manda, there’s something _wrong_ with you people.”

_Seriously._

Andronikos grunted in displeasure, as he nudged Corso backwards with his shoulder to get between him and Mand’alor, “Stand down, son.” The command was absolute and Corso nodded, stepping back to stand beside Brii, putting his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side and then kissing the top of her head.

“We’re not going there” Andronikos grumbled, standing squarely in front of Mand’alor, “I think we need to focus on what’s important.”

His entire body was radiating danger, no one was messing with his family, and that was a fact, he wasn’t about to sit back and watch it happen. He felt a wave of comfort wash over him, his eyebrow raising, though his eyes remained on the bright eyes of Mand’lor as he spoke, “Sith?”

The Sith who had stood quietly the entire time, her face blank, without any expression to give away her feelings on the discussion at hand—stood up from the chair she’d been sitting in, floating over, brushing against Andronikos as she backed up into him, squeezing between him and Mand’alor.  She was close enough that Mand’alor had to concentrate to not shrink backward from the power of the energy flowing off of her.

“I’ll provide the distraction,” she said firmly, cutting Mand’alor off when she opened her mouth to speak, “You and I that is.”

Xayoimea turned to look at Brii, “Go get Torian ready, move fast, and be prepared to fly, understand? We’re off this planet in less than twenty minutes.”

Brii nodded, her eyebrows drawn down in question.

“Go, now!” Brii bristled at the tone the Sith used, but nodded her head sharply, grabbed Corso and left the planning tent.

“You and I will stage a fight,” the Sith had turned her attention back to Mand’alor, “A good one, so that the entire camp is looking at us.”

Mand’alor stood up straight, staring at the Sith, crossing her arms, and then grunting, “You might end up dead, Sith. I can’t predict how the clans will respond to you fighting me.”

“If all of the hearsay about Mandalorian obedience is true, then it shouldn’t take more than you telling them to stay out of it,” Xayoimea challenged, mirroring the leader’s stance, her arms crossing in defiance.

Mand’alor huffed, her eyes narrowing, “So be it. When do you want to do this?”

“Now,” Xayoimea reached her hand out and shocked Mand’alor, the brilliant purple and white sparks causing Mand’alor to jump backwards.

“What the hell!?”

“Just giving you a taste to prepare yourself,” the Sith laughed lightly as she turned to go out of the tent, “I’ll dial back my power so I don’t kill you in front of your people.”

“Damn you,” Mand’alor hissed, her patience nearly unhinged at this point, she stepped one foot forward in challenge, “Don’t you dare do me any favors! You don’t scare me!”

“I know the truth,” the Sith stood still in the doorway, not turning back to look at the leader, “I can hear your heartbeat, I am honored by your bravery, that said, you would lose regardless if I were actually fighting you—and that is not because of your lack of fortitude, ability, or strength, but because of _who I am_. Today, you will triumph in front of your clan. I am happy to do this for you.”

Mand’alor’s eyes were opened wide, her eyes drifting to Andronikos who was standing by the doorway, his eyes unwavering on his Sith, “Why would you do such a thing?”

“We _will_ be allies, and I don’t want your people to lose confidence in you, they have no attachment to me—you are a vital part of the war efforts, and I won’t see your clans fall.”

Mand’alor nodded sharply, understanding, and despite not being able to articulate it, she was grateful for the Sith’s willingness to take her position into consideration, even if it was in what felt like a mildly insulting way.

“You and your clan are _vital_ ,” the Sith turned to look at Mand’alor, “We will not see each other again, but this is something I want you to remember—you are a key part of the narrative. I need you to hear this, and I need you to handle Torian when we return him to you.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Mand’alor bit out as she shook her head, her patience slipping again, her hands clenching in frustration.

“When he returns, he will be changed, and you need to embrace it,” Xayoimea smiled at the woman, “He will need your guidance, and it is not something anyone else can give him—it must come from you.”

Mand’alor didn’t understand anything, but she felt like the Sith was telling her the truth, sharing something very important with her. Suddenly the Sith was standing in front of her, so close her overt energy was blasting her, making her eyes squint as she adjusted to it.

“I know your affection for him,” Xayoimea whispered, a slow smile spreading on her otherwise severe face, her hands reaching out to touch Mand’alor’s hands, holding them lightly, “He cannot be who he _needs_ to be _without_ you.”

“I don’t understand why,” Mand’alor whispered back, “before now, I barely even knew him apart from whispers and rumors.”

“I understand, truly, but please know it’s not my story to tell,” Xayoimea squeezed the leader’s hands, then let them go, taking a deep breath, “Shall we do this?”

Mand’alor nodded, satisfied, the Sith turned to leave, tipping her head at Andronikos who grunted sharply.

“Sith?” Mand’alor called out to her as she neared the exit, “Thank you…and if we really do not meet again…just know…I--I’ll watch over Torian when he returns.”

The Sith stood still for a moment, not turning to look at Mand’alor, frozen there in the doorway, then she laughed lightly.

_I never doubted for a moment but I am relieved you see the truth now._

After a few moments, the laugh turned something sinister, and she stormed through the bright opening of the tent, her voice booming with supernatural force as she appeared to move smoothly across the sandy surface to the center of the camp, her words as an alarm to the Mando’ade in the camp, who all stood, and began to move menacingly toward where the Sith had climbed atop a stack of crates and was still bellowing the words so the entire camp would hear.

“ **You dare to insult me!** Come show me in actions, not words how brave you are Manda’lor—unless you are too _scared_ to do so.”

The entire camp was in an uproar all at once, buzzing and cursing and closing inward when Mand’alor stepped out of the planning tent, her voice booming, “ **She is mine!** ”

A hush settled across the gathered clans, all eyes on their leader as she spoke, “I will cut down any who dare involve themselves in this fight!”

The clan members all bowed their heads in obedience, despite some of them grumbling and shuffling agitatedly in place, their weapons already drawn.

“Fett!” Mand’alor’s eyes landed on her second in command, “Stand down.”

Fett’s eyebrows drew downward, his face absolutely furious, his body had already curved into a fighting stance ready to launch himself at the Sith—but at the sound of his Mand’alor’s voice saying his name he stopped.

“Don’t make me kill you myself.”

Fett stood up straight, his hands still tight around his weapons, then nodded stiffly.

Mand’alor heard sounds from behind her, and rushed forward to the circle as she heard Andare cry out for her to stop. Her hands gripped her blaster so hard it made her arm shake so that she would not turn around to reassure Andare that this was just a performance. She knew she could not do that, and regretted it deeply that the medic would watch this believing that it was absolutely real in every way.

_I’m so sorry…I’ll be okay._

She clenched her eyes shut for a moment, gathering herself, and then when she opened them, her entire countenance emanated fury, “You’ve issued your last threat in my house, Sith!” At this Mand’alor fired up her jets and flew up to meet the Sith in the center of the circle.

Xayoimea laughed lightly, menacingly, “Very well.”

The Sith began glowing as she gathered energy to attack Mand’alor. Mand’alor instantly began a barrage of fire, missile, and blaster attacks, moving quickly away from each blast of energy the Sith shot out of her hands.

The combat continued as the two of them performed their carefully orchestrated dance, their faces covered in sweat from the concentration, and the truth being told, they both were quite enjoying the experience—so seldom did either of them face an opponent who offered even a small amount of challenge.

The air was rendered in two as the Sith’s light saber came to life, bright pink lighting up both ends. Without a moment’s pause, she launched herself upward off the crates at Mand’alor, who realized too late what the Sith had planned.

She cried out as the blade slashed down across her arm, not cutting through, thanks to the strength of her beskar’gam—but she could feel her skin burning, bubbling, underneath the armor from the heat of the blade as it rest there on her arm.

“You shabuir,” Mand’alor hissed as she manipulated their position trying to disarm the Sith. Xayoimea winked quickly at her, the Sith’s mouth twitching slightly at the desire to answer in kind. Rather, her words were unexpected.

“Finish it, send me to hell,” the Sith seethed, her eyes twinkling, understanding alight in Mand’alor’s eyes, and then in a whisper so faint Mand’alor wasn’t even sure she heard it correctly, “Thank you.”

Mand’alor hit her jets, slamming the Sith down into the ground, activating her torches and firing them directly into the Sith’s face. She knew that the Sith would stop them, but she’d managed to get them to such an angle and the rest of the clan could not see what was happening.

She could feel the heat on her face from the proximity of the raging fire and the way it was bouncing off of the Sith’s protective wall.

The Sith winked at her, and then gestured her eyes to the gun on Mand’alor’s belt.

The shot hit the ground next to the Sith’s head, as Mand’alor called out loudly, “Victory is mine!”

Andronikos dodged sideways as he grabbed Mand’alor off of Xayoimea, nearly getting hit by her response to him grabbing her.

He fell to the ground beside her, crying out. He felt like he deserved recognition for his own role in this performance, he was spot on, if not overly dramatic, but it served to rile the surrounding Mandalorians into a subdued frenzy of victory as they awaited Mand’alor’s instructions.

Mand’alor walked back and forth drawing the crowded clans back further and further away from where the Sith lay and her husband “mourned”.

“Take her, leave here, and tell the world that no one, Sith, or otherwise, comes to the House of Vizla, the inner sanctum of Mand’alor with insults, and lives to tell the tale.”

Andronikos nearly laughed through his pretended hysteria when the Sith rolled her eyes, he didn’t say a word, just picked her up, her body limp and lifeless in his arms, and carried her away to their ship.

The camp went wild with cries of victory and celebration—and Mand’alor was shocked as someone crashed into her, causing her to stumble backwards two steps, her arms flying up in surprise as something attached to her—eyes wide as she looked down, steadying herself, realized that it was Andare who had now locked her arms around her waist.

“I thought you were going to…I don’t even want to say it…,” Andare cried, her voice a whisper that spoke straight to Mand’alor’s soul, as her face tilted up looking into her eyes, “I didn’t get to tell you…”

“What?” Mand’alor spoke softly despite all of the chaos around them, her eyes narrowing tenderly at the woman’s stricken face, tears still wet on her cheeks.

“I…” Andare took a deep breath, her arms still locked around Mand’alor’s waist, her body shaking against the leader’s, her arms pulling impossibly harder as she pressed her head into Mand’alor’s breastplate, averting her eyes in her flustered state, “I care…so much…for you, and I want to….I would like for us to….”

“We are,” Mand’alor responded gently.

She reached down, slowly drawing Andare’s face up to look at her, the redness of her eyes, and the blush across her cheeks making her absolutely radiant, she moved slowly, drawing her hand to brush away the tears from Andare’s cheeks, her palm wrapping around her cheek, her fingers running into her hair, clenching softly, “If you want, then we already are.”

Andare bubbled out a soft teary laugh, her eyes twinkling despite the ongoing tears, nodding her head, “Please.”

Despite all of the loud yelling, the sounds of corks popping from the spirits being passed around, guns firing in the air, and the distinct sound of two ships taking off from across the camp—the only sound that Mand’alor could hear was the sound of her heart beating in her own ears as she leaned down, her body curving to reach the tiny woman she couldn’t stop from admitting she was falling unexpectedly in love with.

Andare, done with waiting, steeling her nerves, pressed forward, moving up on her toes, closing the gap between them quickly, her mouth soft on Mand’alor’s in a tender kiss.

She laughed when Mand’alor leaned back a small bit, eyes glittering with unspoken words between them, then reached down, wrapping an arm around Andare’s waist and pulled her closer, one hand resting on her back, the other moving under her neck into her hair, having so longed for this—but was quickly drawn back to the kiss when Mand’alor brushed her mouth across hers again, more insistent.

Her breath caught in her chest as she allowed herself to be swept away, her mind lost in the sensations of the kiss as it drifted deeper and deeper—the connection between them electric, fiery with pent up words that had not yet been spoken, of desires that had been brushed aside for months now—all finding their way into the moment in the most delicious ways.

The gathered clan members paid no mind to their leader and Chief Medic locked in a passionate embrace amidst all of the celebratory chaos.

It made it very easy for the two of them to sneak away without anyone noticing.

_We are._

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

> Message-ID: <c5f7e54rdedsf4c1ab73bd42fw3432er-ITM-ID-df38478gdfgk9238jt5ds6-234fls>
> 
> X-Mailer: IntergalacticTransmissionModule Galaxy/89er72o8974edjfog883-LOC
> 
> TM-Version: 5.2.14
> 
> Encryption: STRICT.matrix342399283.tracert.codeSECURE
> 
> Failsafe: TRUE-interception blocked.CONF-382882340Droid23fjdfks-EmbassyALD
> 
>  
> 
> To: Xayoimae Revel <ITM-ID-er8440983llkgldfk93fd349-954352>
> 
> Subject: Another Update
> 
> Receipt: 3443lsdk553lf-s2stul
> 
> From: Raeyn Revel <ITM-ID-df38478292983sdk9238jt5ds6-234fls>
> 
>  
> 
> We’ve made this little area in the cargo hold that is “ours”. It’s just a corner, nothing special at all, but no one else comes there and it’s at least a tiny spot we can pretend nothing else matters but that moment in time. Torian had put it together, some crates—then he got pillows from somewhere and he’s added those to the crates around the makeshift table. It’s perfect. It’s…us.
> 
> Anyways, you’d be proud of me, this baby stepping into sharing who I am? I took a big leap today—I actually brought out one of my books today, and showed it to him. I was terrified that he was going to laugh at me and ask me why I had a book of poetry. But Eldae, he didn’t, in fact, he touched the book with reverence. He had never seen a real book before. I couldn’t imagine such a thing, but he explained he’d never really been anywhere that books were used. He actually smelled it and my heart jumped…I wanted to hug him. KFLJSD he actually _smelled_ it! Haha I think I fell in love a little bit more when he did that.
> 
> He told me I was constantly surprising him. I hope that’s a good thing?
> 
> He turned the pages, and smiled when he saw the pictures. He asked me if he could borrow it, making sure to tell me that he would take good care of it! I told him yes, of course. I realized there are so many things I want to share with him, so much I want him to know—and I wish I could know I had a lifetime to do it in.
> 
> I shouldn’t think about that, the covenant, I shouldn’t hope, but I do. I can’t help it. My heart is positively bent on it. I know, I know...anything could still happen. I accept it as such, yet pretending that there is a future between us—well, it makes me happy—so I will not deny myself the daydreams and imaginings.
> 
> Sleep sweet!

 

* * *

 

 

Hour 276

She had just stepped to the edge of the cliff, wishing she was surprised by Valkorian’s presence beside her, but of course she knew where he was. He was the only thing she could sense here.

“You’re going to regret getting inside my head.”

She turned to look at him then—her eyes boring into him as she continued, “Just wait until you see my dreams.”

He nodded, his face severe, almost pained, shifting to look out across the hills, “I would prefer dreams over your nightmares.”

She opened to her mouth to speak when she felt something, a stirring in the atmosphere of the planet they were on, and she turned to look out, staggering as she felt the weight of what she was being drawn to, she could see them. Her crew. Torian. They were there, they were across the hills in a valley. Their bodies were in fighting stances, a circle of enemies crowding in around them.

Her heart beat wildly, as her breath caught sharply as if she had just been punched in the gut, she called out to them, called him by name.  
  
"Torian!! I'm here, please, I am here!"   
  
Valkorian laughed at her. It was an evil, hollow sound.   
  
She stumbled as she went down the hill, alone, Valkorian still at the top of the hill, she was running as fast as she could to Torian.

She could still hear Valkorian’s laugh.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

> Message-ID: <c5f7e12fgdsf4c1ab73bd423239c2-ITM-ID-df38478gdfgasdk9238jt5ds6-234fls>
> 
> X-Mailer: IntergalacticTransmissionModule Galaxy/89er72o8974edjfog883-LOC
> 
> TM-Version: 5.2.14
> 
> Encryption: STRICT.matrix342399283.tracert.codeSECURE
> 
> Failsafe: TRUE-interception blocked.CONF-382882340Droid23fjdfks-EmbassyALD
> 
>  
> 
> To: Xayoimae Revel <ITM-ID-er8440983llkgldfk93fd349-954352>
> 
> Subject: OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Receipt: 3443lsdk553lf-s2stul
> 
> From: Raeyn Revel <ITM-ID-df38478292983sdk9238jt5ds6-234fls>
> 
>  
> 
> AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Guess what happened, guess, guess!!!!
> 
> Late tonight I went to get a snack and Torian was in the galley too, so we took our snacks and sat in our corner in the cargo hold while everyone else was sleeping to make sure we didn’t disturb them…both of us utterly exhausted.
> 
> Long story short, he asked me if I was “seeing” anyone. Which honestly, I knew was just a ploy to get me to admit that I wasn’t, cause he’s been with me every day since he joined my crew—so he already KNOWS I am not. I told him that I wasn’t, and had never. He smiled at that and admitted that he had never had any relationships either. Then he told me I could ask him a question so I did---and asked him what he looks for in a girl.
> 
> It was a joke, of course, after his dating one—and he said that she had to be a better shot that him (haha!) and be Mandalorian. CHECK AND CHECK. Haha I tried not to bust out like a crazy woman, but I did tell him I had them both covered. He agreed, and said that once he’d had some Mando’ade lessons with me—that he figured I would be just about the perfect girl.
> 
> Fasdl”Jp’oFd’j”d;fk’ fowefka d’fk ‘ K;d”Okf ‘asofg ajg’apojf ‘OJS:D” JDP”SDFJ SD”PF;sdfks;d
> 
> Can you believe it!?
> 
> I hugged him then, a weird, awkward hug across the boxes—but it was still a beautiful moment.
> 
> Who am I kidding?!?! IT WAS PERFECT.

 

* * *

 

 

Hour 483

She had been running so long she didn’t really remember not running. She couldn’t find them, couldn’t find Torian.

Horrible creatures appeared before her, and suddenly, she had her weapons, she cut them down, easily, too easily. She was still running toward the sound of her crew, she could make out their cries for help now. Each of them calling to her. Torian calling to her, his words laced with pain and heartbreak. She was moving but it felt like the same space over and over again. Their cries became harder and harder to bear, she couldn't understand how she still had tears as much as she had cried. More and more desperate. She was so tired, so worn, she slowed, and slowed until she was crawling, the voices so small and weak ahead of her.   
  
She kept crawling.

_Please._

 

 

* * *

  
  
Hour 1934

She came into a clearing, stumbling, her mouth dry and parched, and there before her was her worst nightmare. Her crew, broken beyond words, lying in pools of blood, still and cold.

Lifeless.

She fell to her knees beside Torian, lifting his head up to lie in her lap, her tears flowing freely down her face, peppering his dirty blood stained skin with her remorse.   
  
"NO!" she screamed but the words caught in her throat, choking on a sob. She couldn't breathe, she pulled her hands up and saw Torian's blood covered them, she wanted to run from herself, not able to take a breath, she struggled, stumbling up and back and Valkorian caught her.  
  
His words were nothing to her, she wouldn't even entertain them, didn't even try to understand them. She pushed away from him, trying to breath, trying to breath and then it was dark.   
  
"Let me help you."

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

> Message-ID: <c5f7e12fgdsdfekedfgghsf4c1ab73bd423239c2-ITM-ID-dfgasdk9238jt5ds6-234fls>
> 
> X-Mailer: IntergalacticTransmissionModule Galaxy/89er72o8974edjfog883-LOC
> 
> TM-Version: 5.2.14
> 
> Encryption: STRICT.matrix342399283.tracert.codeSECURE
> 
> Failsafe: TRUE-interception blocked.CONF-382882340Droid23fjdfks-EmbassyALD
> 
>  
> 
> To: Xayoimae Revel <ITM-ID-er8440983llkgldfk93fd349-954352>
> 
> Subject: Quick note (I’m safe!)
> 
> Receipt: 3443lsdk553lf-s2stul
> 
> From: Raeyn Revel <ITM-ID-df38478292983sdk9238jt5ds6-234fls>
> 
>                                           
> 
> I’m tired. We had a really rough few days, so that’s why I haven’t written. We’re fine, everyone’s fine, so don’t worry! Took the crew to some little planet that has waterfalls and spas and upscale cantinas and is relatively safe to have a little downtime. Basically told everyone in the rest of the universe to bite my butt and turned off comms. My crew needs a break, and *I* need a break. Mako and I are planning a girl’s night for tomorrow—that will be fun! Says she’s gonna teach me to COOK. Don’t laugh! I know you are haha I’ll try to not burn myself or my ship.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Raeyn and Mako had the ship to themselves. They had docked on a small planet that seemed to have a fairly decent market and cantina and some kind of spas that Gault was carrying on about...she actually wanted to warn Torian to stay away from them as she didn't think they were the kind of spa he'd actually want, but didn't want to come off as being too motherly--he is a grown man--she needed to make sure he knew she saw him as one even when her protective instincts kicked in regularly. Everyone else had left in a flurry of activity a few hours prior and since there were plenty of things to entertain them or get them into a little bit of not so deadly trouble here the girls figured they had a good time to do something they would enjoy.

“Why do I need to wear an apron?” Raeyn mumbled as she tossed the ties around her neck and fastened the waist of the item Mako had given her to put on.

“…because that’s what you do when you cook? And we’re wearing our pajamas which means we have a lot of exposed skin and neither of us needs to get burned.” Mako set a small pot filled with oil on the burner of the stove, setting it on low to heat while she shifted down the counter to the area where various bowls and tools were waiting to be used.

“What’re we making again?” Raeyn reached up, jerking the fabric tied around her neck, not liking how it felt.

“Snacks, for our vidathon, plus, you should have never told me you hadn’t cooked before—it screamed ‘personal challenge’ to me which, you know, I’m terrible about backing down.”

Raeyn sighed loudly, plopping down in the stool across the counter, leaning her elbows over and resting her hands in her hands watching Mako pull ingredients out of cabinets.

“Can’t you just make it?” she moaned, she knew she was whining, but really didn’t care. The apron was scratchy and felt like sandpaper on her skin. Since she only had on a tank top and shorts, it was touching everywhere, and it made her want to crawl out of her skin.

“No, I cannot,” Mako murmured pulling out a bowl in front of her to mix things in, “besides, Raeyn, you are a grown ass woman. You need to know how to cook.”

Raeyn scoffed, slapping her hand out forward on the counter, laying her head down on her arm, her eyes still watching Mako, “I haven’t died yet, so I don’t see why I need to learn to cook. Somehow, miraculously, I have been able to eat enough to survive all of these years.”

“Where do I even start? First of all, you not dying has nothing to do with the quality of the ‘food’ you eat—and you know that so don’t give me that! Second, the fact remains that whether you can easily die or not—you know your body gains strength the same as anyone else’s does—and eating these,” Mako walked over to the cabinet across from her, swinging it open, her hands gesturing violently to the stacks of boxes there, “does NOTHING to make you healthy. This is not food. This is trash. I don’t even know how you are alive, even with your genetic code, having eaten this prepackaged garbage for so long. I should dump it all out of the airlock.”

Raeyn sat up quickly, “Don’t you dare. I like those! What do you have against prepacs anyway?”

“Well, let’s see,” she reached in and pulled out one of the bags from inside a box, turning it to read the label, “so many ingredients here, and you know what? I don’t see any that I know as ‘food’ at all. These things are disgusting, and I swear if you weren’t YOU I think you’d already be dead from the low quality of your diet.”

“You can kiss my ass,” Raeyn huffed, pointing at Mako sharply, “and, if you touch those prepacs, we are going to rumble for real.”

Mako stared at her for a moment and then shrugged, “Like I really care enough about what you eat to risk MY life. I lived on the streets of Nar Shaddah as an orphan and I ate better then than you do now.”

Raeyn watched quietly as Mako sat out different ingredients, explaining different things as she went. Rayen did have questions and Mako was a patient teacher. She pushed a piece of paper with a smooth surface over to Raeyn, gesturing to the lump of….something on it, “Knead that.”

“What? I don’t need it?”

“No, knead it—with a k—“ Mako rolled her eyes, pulling the paper back to her and used her hands to push the dough around and then roll it, repeating the pushing and squeezing—then pushed it back to Raeyn, “kneading.”

Raeyn looked at the big blob of dough with true trepidation.

“For the love…you are a damn bounty hunter who has faced the fiercest, most dangerous enemies in the universe and you are worried about a pile of dough? How have you survived this long by yourself?”

She reached over, grabbing both of Raeyn’s hands and plopped them into the dough.

“Eww, it feels digusting!” Raeyn lifted her hands, bits of dough sticking to them as she leaned forward and sniffed the dough, “Smells alright, I guess.”

“Just do it,” Mako ordered while she mixed together some spices in another bowl.

Raeyn reached her hand into the dough, its sticky, gooey surface feeling foreign on her hands. She kept trying to pull her hand out but the dough kept sticking. She put her other hand into it, pushing down on it, her hand hitting the table after it went through the dough.

“Roll it,” Mako nodded while she turned to look for something else.

Raeyn reached forward and pulled the blob of dough toward herself, rolling it back up into a ball, and the pushed her hands back into it.

“So…” Mako’s voice had a different tone to it than before, and Raeyn’s hands stilled as she glanced up at her, Mako was staring at Raeyn when she spoke again, “I heard you and Torian talking last night.”

Raeyn felt her cheeks flaming and ducked her head down trying to hide.

“I didn’t mean to, I just had to go to the fresher and heard you guys were still up, I promise I wasn’t spying.”

“I know,” Raeyn lifted her head, to look at Mako, “I know you would never do that…”

She took a deep breath before speaking again, “We’ve actually been talking….a lot…I should have already told you…I just…”

Mako couldn’t stop herself from jumping up and down, a high pitched noise coming from her involuntarily.

“Calm down,” Raeyn laughed, “It’s not a big deal.”

Mako’s hands slapped on the counter, “That’s not what I heard!”

Raeyn tried to look stern but she couldn’t pull it off when Mako looked like she was going to explode with excitement any second.

“What exactly did you hear, Mako?”

“Oh, not much, just this and that and you talking about how worthy he was….and it was in that girly voice that you only use when you are talking to him and then—“

“Shut up,” Raeyn laughed, smacking the dough around, “I don’t have a ‘girly’ voice.”

“You do and you used it last night while you two were talking about your future. My question is have you two actually…you know…?”

Raeyn glanced up to see Mako raising her eyebrows up and down quickly.

Raeyn’s head snapped up, “What? No!” The word practically came out as a screech, “I mean, I suppose it’s not so farfetched to think that maybe that’s….going to happen obviously at some point—and I don’t mean…. _THAT_ , but you know…stuff, but…no…we…haven’t—we’ve hugged.”

“You two are so stupid at this, I don’t even know how you have progressed this far,” Mako laughed stirring something in a bowl as she watched Raeyn focus back on the dough to avoid the conversation, “I mean you two like each other, on some alternate plane I can’t even comprehend most of the time, you kinda make me sick the way you have these conversations without even talking…but anyway…it’s like you two are made for each other…and I want to see you…”

Raeyn’s mind drifted for a moment to the night before her eyes glazing over as the memories washed over her anew.

 

* * *

 

 

“I enjoyed this,” Torian slid the book onto the table and pushed it toward Raeyn, “Thank you for letting me borrow it.”

He seemed oddly flustered as he mumbled, his hands running through his hair, then leaning forward on his knees, his eyes fixed on Raeyn.

She leaned forward from her seat on the crate in the cargo hold, attentive, studying his aura for clues as to why he felt uneasy.

“I wanted to share something with you,” he reached into a box she hadn’t noticed sitting beside him on another crate, pulling out a rolled up scroll of paper. It appeared to be aged, though, well preserved. It was relatively small, bound with a piece of twine.

“This…is something that Mand’alor sent to me a few weeks ago,” He picked up the scroll, pulling on the twine to unwrap it, unrolling it and then turning it so that Raeyn could see it. He carefully sat a small stone on each end of it to hold it open in place.  Raeyn leaned forward, careful to not touch it, unsure of what kind of document it was and not wanting to take any chances of untoward responses to it.

She read the carefully formed script, two different ones combined to make a complete oath. Her eyes rushed to the bottom, widening as she read the two names there.

Jicoln Cadera & Jirian Beroya ka. Jirian Cadera henceforth

Her eyes were still marveling, wide and unsure of what she was actually looking at and afraid to imagine and be wrong, but she couldn’t resist, “Is that…your Mother’s name?”

Torian nodded, grinning as her eyes rushed back to read the document again.

“This…it’s is your parents wedding oath!” Raeyn was amazed, unsure of how Mand’alor could have come across such a priceless artifact, but so thankful to see it. One day she would touch it and maybe give Torian some insights, but she didn’t feel strong enough in his presence to control her response enough yet.

He nodded, moving the stones away and letting the scroll roll back up, tying it and setting it back in the box—then he reached across the small space between them to take her hand. She froze for a moment, her senses overtaken by the power of his affection as she took a deep breath, opening her eyes to look at him.

“Does that hurt you?” His voice was soft, apologetic almost for asking something so personal. Her eyes widened, hoping that she was always stealthy enough to hide the effect—and that while she was impacted by everything, his aura impacted her the most…but apparently, she wasn’t as covert as she’d imagined, “I notice, even though you try to hide it…it looks painful.”

She stared at him, stunned at his ability to read her so easily.

“Not trying to pry, or get you to talk about something you’re not ready to,” he said, his hand squeezing hers gently.

She laughed softly, shaking her head, “It’s not that,” she squeezed his hand back, “I just don’t know how to begin to explain, it’s all….complex…but I want you to know everything.”

“I’d like that.” The words were spoken with such conviction she knew there was far more to it than that simple statement.

“But we’ll start with your question—no, it’s not…. exactly painful. It’s…different. I feel things, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” She laughed lightly then, as he nodded, because of course he had—since sometimes her responses caused visual, fact based effects and could often be felt by others.

“Well, I’ve spent my entire life learning to control my reactions and responses. I couldn’t touch my family for several years, and then when I learned to, I still struggled when things were overwhelming. I was alone a lot. Spent a lot of time by myself, it was easier, it fixed things for me, I didn’t have to think so hard, try so hard, and my family didn’t take it personally, they understood.”

Despite understanding her situation as a child, she couldn’t stop the sad tone from entering her voice as she remembered all of the times she stayed outside of her family’s circle so she wouldn’t suffer from the assault of emotions. It was never easy.

“You were alone,” Torian whispered, his hands flexing around hers, “I was too.”

She nodded, drawn out of her thoughts, eyes moving to his, her breath caught in her throat for a moment, when his voice spoke with such conviction, “You won’t be again.”

“Neither will you,” she whispered in response, her eyes crinkling in the corner as she grinned warmly at him.

He nodded curtly, as she took a moment to revel in the feelings between their connection, then she continued to speak, “With maturity came more control, and then I could spend time with them as a group, and if I would get overwhelmed, they’d all touch me and I would feel it fade away. Eventually, once I became an adult, I had tempered my abilities—refined them to the point that they could touch me one at a time…and after a while, anytime—even all of them and I could handle it.”

“The real tests came when I went out into the worlds. Times of joy, like weddings, sadness like funerals, carnivals, parties, you name it. I tested them all. I failed some and had to retreat quickly, but others I was able to tease along the edges until I could take it all in. Eventually, I honed my powers enough to control them and now I can do it most of the time, I still struggle if it’s something that will affect someone I love. I haven’t lost control in a really long time…”

She squeezed his hands hard, pulling herself to the edge of her crate as she leaned in toward him, “I wasn’t prepared for you—because with you everything is different, more…the sensations are all new, unique.”

She searched for the right words to explain this to him, he sat silent, squeezing her hands in encouragement, patiently waiting for her to gather her thoughts, “I never knew…these feelings, these emotions. I felt _something_ from people that hinted at this—but it was so buffered and mild because my own spirit did not actually know how to process them—it actually hurt me, when the feelings would slam into the nothingness. It was like the place the feelings existed was just a large void inside of me, all empty, cold…I spent a lot of my younger years trying to figure out how to make it go away, to destroy it so that I would not have the constant pain. The empty place that ached inside of me was filled with untapped potential, new and exciting emotions and feelings that I had not yet awakened—eventually, my parents realized I was trying to destroy that part of myself, and they sat me down and told me that I needed to do the opposite. To reach into the void and the answer would be there for me.”

“I was terrified the day I went to be alone to test it. I didn’t know what was going to happen. I reached forward into the silent space in me, and it hurt, it was painful, really at that point one of the most painful things I had experienced. I wanted to withdraw but I held onto my parent’s words, and I pushed past the pain—I spent three days in a cave, digging through, pushing myself. It felt like everything in the universe opened to me in a single moment.”

She laughed lightly, her eyes having been fixated on their hands between them lifting to look at Torian, “My family would later tell me that they knew the exact moment when that happened because the force of the explsion rocked the entire world.”

Torian’s eyebrow raised slowly as Raeyn giggled lightly, “When the power opened in me—the cave I was in couldn’t withstand the response my body had—and well, basically, I blew it up. When opened my eyes I was in the middle of a huge crater that I had created when my mind opened. The pain was there still, excruciating, but there was something…other. The colors all around me changed, as the dust settled, everything was brighter. I could hear a new song in my head. I could see more than I could before, and there, when I looked down was a beam of bright light, a ribbon flowing from me and suddenly—I had _hope_ ,” she laughed in her excitement, bubbling, as she continued, “I had no idea what any of it meant—so it really was a miracle I didn’t maim myself stumbling through the rubble from the explosion as I went running like a crazy person to my family. As I saw them, I saw lights coming from some of them, lines of light from their chests, beautiful lights moving and flowing and going somewhere—and I wanted to follow to see them all!”

She shook her head, her voice lowering, “I was blabbering on and on about the ribbons of light, and everyone was staring at me like I had grown ten tails. They couldn’t see it. They couldn’t see what I saw. My mother explained that it was a gift—to see the binds of the heart, and that it was why I felt the empty parts inside of me so acutely. It made sense, you know? For everything that had happened, it made sense to me then, the dark place in me. It was waiting to be ignited, to be opened—I felt…something…maybe it will sound crazy, but Torian, I think I felt _you_ even then.”

She took a shuddering breath, as he ran his thumbs across the tops of her hands, letting her gather herself.

 “There was still pain, but it was numbed by the feeling of hope and certainty that you were out there in the universe, growing up and moving toward me—and then…that day—when I walked into that room with you the first time, you at the end of my ribbon, it was like the dark, dead place inside of me actually came to life.”

A tear slowly rolled down her cheek, her body shuddering lightly as she took a ragged breath, “It was like **_I_** came to life.”

Torian moved forward on his crate, pulling her hands to him, gently placing a kiss on top of one of them. He could tell there was more she wanted to say, so he just stayed close to her, holding her hands between them to give her courage.

“It was overwhelming. If I hadn’t trained so long and hard to control myself things could have spiraled out of control right then and there. I went after that to a planet that was a barren wasteland…and…well, it was…violent. The response was different than anything I’d had before when I gave into it. Powerful. More power than I had ever known.”

He nodded, understanding, he’d felt something like that too, just muted, he realized now—something between them that changed them both that day. She leaned forward a few more inches, “It feels like electricity running through my blood. A thousand pin pricks all at once all over my body. It hurts, in the traditional sense of pain I suppose, but at the same time—I relish it—It tells me I am alive, that you are real, that we are something...other. Something new—maybe something the universe hasn’t even seen before. The other parts that have awoken inside of me, they are beautiful and I would not go back to not knowing them for anything in the world,” her voice lowered into a small whisper, “…I’d endure any amount of pain to know you.”

Torian’s eyes drifted down to where their hands were clenched together, nodding, “I understand that myself.”

“I thought you might,” she smiled when his eyes reached back up to her own.

“So, you feel it all the time?”

“Yes, all the time, but it’s exaggerated when you are close to me, or when we are touching.”

He seemed to think on that for a moment, “So when we are training or fighting or just hanging out in the lounge?”

“Yes.” She dropped her head, feeling like maybe she shouldn’t share this with him, not wanting him to be worried or change how he’d been treating her.

“I see,” he shook her hand lightly, getting her to look at him before he spoke, “Can you show me?”

She nodded, her eyes wide in question, when he didn’t protest she closed her eyes, her hands reaching to take his wrists, her body softly humming with energy as she let the feeling flow out of her across him. She could hear his teeth click when they touched from him clinching his jaw from the sensation. She pulled it back, her eyes opening, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ha--“

“Stop,” Torian’s voice was gentle but sharp as he spoke, “I don’t want you to apologize for being you, never with me. I’m glad to know. Thank you. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

She shook her head, “Not really, just…it’s a process. I don’t want you to be afraid to touch me or be close to me.”

He laughed then, shrugging, “I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.”

She clucked her tongue as if making fun of him, and he raised his eyebrows, smirking at her, “You should know then, Champion, that I’m not sorry I can’t stop.”

She laughed at him then, “I wouldn’t want you to be.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she took a deep breath, “So…that scroll?”

Torian nodded, “I didn’t know my Mother’s name until this arrived. I never asked, and no one ever told me…but it was nice to see something that showed a happier time for my parents.”

“Is that tradition? To write the wedding oath?”

Torian shrugged, “Different clans have different traditions, and for many the oaths are declared verbally and that’s it, some of them have a public ceremony, I suppose similar to what we see as traditional weddings like on Coruscant—and some write them, the words of their hearts flowing in addition to the words that are a normal part of it.”

He let go of her hand to reach in the box again, pulling out two other scrolls, “These arrived with the one that belonged to my parents.”

He sat them side by side on the table then pointed to one of them, “This one was my father’s father’s oath,” his finger pointed to the one beside it, “and this one, was my mother’s father’s oath.”

He laid one more scroll down between the two, “And this…this one was my great grandfather’s oath on my father’s side.”

He stared at the scrolls for a moment, then cleared his throat picking them up and putting them in the box again, “Raeyn, I need you to know that I was taught that relationships are something sacred. I mean, you know as well as I do that not all Mando’ade hold to that tenet—but I want you to know that _I do_.”

He took her hand, squeezing it softly, “I wanted you to see these scrolls because they came from Mand’alore himself. I was concerned that he would object to my pursuing a relationship with you—Clan Cadera and Mand’alore haven’t exactly been close—but then he sent me these—with this letter.”

He pulled a sheet of paper out of the box with his free hand, sliding it across the table so she could read it. Raeyn leaned forward her eyes flowing along the lines of the text written there.

 

 

 

> Torian,
> 
> Time has long passed for me to share with you something I believe you should know. You are not your father. Not in the clans, not with in my own eyes. You have been raised to become a fierce and mighty warrior. I expect to see great things from you—and from your clan.
> 
> Please accept these scrolls as a peace offering between the two of us. I know more about your current situation than you would likely approve, but let me just encourage you to know you come from a strong and tempered line of great men and women who devoted themselves to one another and faced every adversity and opposition at one another’s side.
> 
> It is hard to look back on the past and not wonder if things could have been different, but today I encourage you to do as I am, and face forward. Focus on being the man you were meant to be—and while you are renewing your family line and honor—please know that not all parts of your past should be forgotten.
> 
> As you experience your aay'han, please draw from the example set before you by your elders—find depth of meaning in the actions you take and use great wisdom to embrace the attachment you have made. Teach her to be a Mandalorian first, then everything else will fall into place for you.
> 
> Taylir te ruyot bal nari vencuyot udesla.
> 
> You have my blessing.
> 
> Use it in good health and victorious battle,
> 
> Mand’alore

 

Raeyn knew she would likely butcher the words, but she tried anyway, reading the words she could not understand, “Taylir te ruyot bal nari vencuyot udesla?”

“Means ‘hold onto your history and move forward with confidence’,” he said, his eyes unmoving as he stared at her.

“Gonna teach you Mandalorian culture, and Mando’a and whatever else you want to know…and then….I just…” he paused for a moment, uncertain about how to do this, but deciding to be brave, to push forward, “I want to make this real…this between us.”

Raeyn tilted her head, taking in his words, concern causing her face to scrunch up, “There’s so much you don’t know about me yet, what if you change your mind?”

He sat still, staring at her and in her nervous energy she spoke quicker than she meant to, “I mean, what if you find something out and you decide that I am not what you want—I mean I have no idea how this works, or what I am supposed to do and I don’t even know yet how to be a Mandalorian and you might not even feel the same if…”

“Cyare, relax,” he whispered, cutting her off, leaning toward her, her body moving of its own accord to meet him, his forehead softly tapping hers, and then resting there, his eyes serious as he spoke, “I know I want you to be _mine_. Can’t be more clear than that.”

She couldn’t stop the smile from taking over her expression, light burning through her, “I want that.”

“Not yet, though—want to be deserving of you,” he shrugged his shoulders, “…worthy. Like those who came before me.”

Her hands pulled from his then, reaching up to touch his face, to wrap her fingers around his cheeks, thumbs brushing the scars there, her eyes drifting closed as she drew in the delightful energy between them, “You are already worthy, Torian. You’ve _always_ been.”

His hands moved to hold her wrists, his thumbs softly stroking the underside of them as he hummed, “Maybe so. I want to do this right. Those scrolls are the only example I have in reality though I have watched how things are done in more modern Mandalorian tradition, but I find I have a deep connection to the older ways. I want to give you everything.”

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” her eyes popped open wide when she realized the words had come out of her mouth instead of being in her mind, her face flushing with embarrassment.

In the succinct way that only Torian could, he set her at ease with a single word, as he lifted his head to place a soft kiss on her forehead, “Same.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow--I am so honored by all of you! For those who send me messages, THANK YOU, for those who take the time to read my work--oh my THANK YOU! For those who actually make the effort to write a comment--you're my lifeline! THANK YOU! I love you all to bits!!! OXOXOX
> 
> Just a few translations this chapter!  
> _________________________________________________________________
> 
> shabuir [SHAH-boo-EER] extreme insult - *jerk*, but much stronger
> 
> beskar'gam [BES-kar-GAM] armor
> 
> aay'han [AY-ye-haan] bittersweet perfect moment of mourning and joy - *remembering and celebrating*


	11. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pronunciation Guide for Character Names:
> 
> Raeyn [rain]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> Just a few things--there is another part in here that I did not supply pronunciations or explanations for--as it is given directly after it is spoken. =o)
> 
> Just a couple of translations in this chapter, as always they are available on pop-up here or you can get them here:
> 
> Tumblr Post: http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/post/153109301046/the-pages-between-chapter-11-always

* * *

 

 

_Same._

Raeyn couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face as the word washed over her anew. She shook her head as the memory faded, having passed through her mind in a moments time, she looked at Mako who was finishing the lengthy speech she’d been giving.

“…you two are meant to be together, everyone knows it and I just don’t know why you are stalling, I think you are both just too nervous or something, but you can’t keep doing this weird dance forever…my constitution can’t possibly handle it.”

“Mako,” Raeyn was watching her friend’s eyes widen further and further as she spoke, “breathe.”

Mako drew in a deep breath, nodding, “I just really want you to be happy, both of you.”

“We’re ‘t'ad tome’ now,” Raeyn tried to minimize the words, helplessly smiling despite that as the Mando’a words flowed across her tongue, knowing even as she said it that it wasn’t going to change the response, “It’s Mandalorian for ‘two together’—their term for I guess what humans call ‘courting’.”

Raeyn was shocked when all the glass in the room didn’t burst at the decibel of scream that came out of her tiny friend. Mako had run around the corner of the bar, and was hugging her, jumping up and down in place. Raeyn lifted her hands up above their heads to avoid messing up the dough, laughing lightly.

“Sorry, sorry,” Mako giggled as she backed away and moved back to her side of the counter to keep working on the spices. Raeyn dug her hands back into the dough, curious as it became less and less sticky as she worked it and more firm, eventually forming into a large, firm lump on the paper.

“There’s still so much to share, every day I don’t get everything poured out of me feels like I am lying to him, I don’t know how to explain it all to him, but I need to, and soon,” Raeyn studied the dough as she talked, not wanting to see Mako’s face.

“He won’t care, Raeyn,” Mako stated sternly, “He’s crazy about you.”

Raeyn nodded, internally praying that it was that simple. Nothing about her was simple though, and she knew that this wasn’t going to be easy and she felt an emotion she had rarely ever felt in her lifetime.

_Fear._

“Look at you, you did it!” Raeyn jumped at Mako’s squeal, looking up at her to find Mako beaming.  Raeyn felt awkward and unsure because who praised her for making dough? At least the kind that you eat.

She shrugged, “It better be worth it, that’s all I’m gonna say.”

She stood up and went to the sink washing her hands, grabbing a towel to dry them and walked back to sit down, watching Mako take a small bit of dough and roll it in her hands.

“What are you doing to it?”

“Getting it ready for the oil, just in small bite sized portions,” she glanced up to make sure Raeyn was watching and dropped the ball of dough in the oil.

Raeyn’s eyes widened as the oil sputtered and cried out, the dough disturbing its normal peace, and then the dough began to grow, getting bigger from the oil. It was bright and happy. Mako dropped more dough balls in and Raeyn was consumed by the noise the oil was making, now making pattering noises of contentment about what it was doing and the dough was happy as it turned a bright golden brown, then Mako fished them out as each one turned.

She lay them on towels, a kind of assembly line prepared.

“Oh, no!” Mako exclaimed, as she turned looking around the galley, “I forgot the sweet powder!”

“The what?”

“The sweet powder. I sprinkle them with the spices and then powder them while they are hot, can you grab it out of that cabinet over there? It’s the only bag in there and it’s white.”

Raeyn retrieved the powder from across the room, walking back to the counter. Mako pointed to an empty bowl, “Open it and put some in there.”

Raeyn pulled the zipper on the bag, a little puff of white dust rising, and she had to smile as the scent hit her, something so good about it, it smelled like happiness.

She tipped the bag over the bowl and the powder rushed out. When it hit the bowl a large cloud of white powder filled the entire side of the galley. Raeyn screeched, and Mako sighed, knowing she would likely be the one to clean that up.

“What the…Mako! I am so sorry!”

Mako glanced beside her and couldn’t help but laugh, as Raeyn was covered in the white sugar, “We’ll clean up after, just start rolling those in the spice and then the sweet powder before they dry out or it won’t stick to them!”

Raeyn reached over and picked one of the balls up and rolled it in the spice, moving quickly with her fingers moving fast as they were still rather hot, then retrieved it from the bowl to roll it in the powder, setting it on the plate Mako had set to the side of them for the finished ones.

“They smell really good,” Raeyn admitted.

“They taste better!”

After all of the cooked dough had been spiced and powdered Mako quickly moved the dirty dishes to the sink and grabbed the plate of treats, “I’ll deal with this mess later, c’mon!” She walked to the doorway dimming the lights a bit, then went to the other side of the room, gesturing for Raeyn to take off the apron.

Raeyn followed her across the room where they had brought all the pillows and blankets from each of their rooms and make a huge pile in the corner. They huddled down in the mass of softness, Mako reaching out to flip the switch on the projector. The first scene of their favorite movie lit up the room, and Raeyn sighed, she loved this movie.

Mako held the plate out to Raeyn, jiggling it a bit, “You first!”

Raeyn reached out and picked up one of the treats, “What are they called?”

“Sweet rolls,” Mako hmmmed, sniffing deeply of the plate, “Eat one!”

Raeyn popped it into her mouth, her eyes widening and a loud groan coming from her as the taste of sweet buttery sugary goodness burst in her mouth.

“That’s amazing!” She muttered through her full mouth, as Mako picked up one and popped it into her own mouth, closing her eyes and humming in satisfaction.

There was a loud noise, a clanging from the other side of the ship, and Mako’s eyes widened, a curse coming out around the chewed food.

“What?” Raeyn asked, turning to look at her, curious at her response since no one could board the ship apart from their own crew.

“He’s back early,” She jumped up, turning off the projector, slapping the light switch panel on as she placed the plate of sweet rolls on the counter, rushing back to Raeyn and pulling her hands to force her stand up. Her eyes sweeping over her, and Raeyn’s expression confused, she was trying to swallow the food quickly.

“What’s happening Mako?” Raeyn burst out as soon as the food was gone.

“Nothing, just…I suggested that Torian….ummm..”

“Spit it out Mako!”

“I just told him he should get started on his plans for wooing you sooner than later, this morning, when I passed him in the hallway, just a little…..nudge from me is all, and he…well, apparently he’s taking me up on that!”

She reached out and dusted Raeyn’s cheeks, white powder rising from them.

“What? Now!?” Raeyn gestured at herself, her entire demeanor one of near hysteria. Her eyes moved past Mako to the galley which was covered in the white dust, her own footprints marking the floors around them.

“Sorry,” Mako muttered, rushing toward the door, “You look like a girl learning to cook, he’ll love it!”

And just like that Mako was gone and Raeyn was still reeling. She looked down at her black tank top, covered in white sweet powder, her black shorts smattered with white handprints from her slapping her hands on them, and she knew it was in her hair and on her face. She took off across the room in a dash to get to her quarters to change before Torian made it to the galley.

She’d just made it to the door when she ran into what felt like a brick wall, falling backward on her behind, yelping. Torian dropped the bags he had in his hands on the floor and rushed to kneel down next to her, “Raeyn! Are you okay? I’m so sorry; didn’t know you were in here!”

She was fully aware that she was turning ten thousand shades of red and wanted the ship to swallow her whole. Her eyes were fixed on a point just below Torian’s chin as she struggled to try to think of words to say.

“You okay?”

She nodded, a bubbled laugh of embarrassment, a small snort sounding out as she shook her head, he stood up offering her his hand, which she took so he could help her stand up, “It was my fault, I just was….” She drifted off, not sure of what to say, as she watched him turn back to the doorway, as if maybe giving her a few moments of privacy to composer herself. He gathered the bags and walked them over to the table, his gait assured, the model of certainty at the moment when she was struggling to find words.

“M-Mako was just teaching me how to make sweet rolls,” she gestured at the plate as he walked across the kitchen past her to do something with the oven behind her.

“They look good,” he exclaimed as he looked at the plate, amusement coloring his words, as he surveyed the disaster that was the galley, “a good dessert for us.”

He laughed in a quick, nervous way as he brushed past her walking back to the table, “Looks like you had some fun learning too.” His hand drifted out over toward the kitchen and the mess that was all over her and the floor, and the counters, and pretty much everything. He huffed, running his hand through his hair before he turned his back to her, pulling items out of the bags.

“Was gonna ask you to join me for dinner,” he’d turned back around to look at her, his hands passing some kind of vegetable back and forth between them, his cheeks red and she wanted to go hug him, reassure him that she knew this was weird for both of them, “Should have probably asked sooner, but if this is a bad time, we can do it some oth—“

“No!” Raeyn burst out, louder than she meant to, her hands flying up to cover her mouth, a nervous laugh flowing between her fingers, “I mean, I’d love to do it, now!” She couldn’t stop another laugh from bubbling out as she realized what she’d said, Torian’s hands pausing what he was doing, one of his eyebrows raising teasingly, she rushed the words, clarifying, “I’d love to have dinner with you. Now…I mean…”

_Frack._

“Good,” he stated firmly, hiding a laugh behind a tight smirk, as he turned back to the table to empty the other bags so the contents were laid out across the table.

Raeyn shook her hands and arms out, trying to relax, took a deep breath, calming herself, checking his aura to see he was feeling nothing but satisfaction and happiness. She jumped up on the counter a few feet away sitting casually, her legs pulled up, bent and crossed, with her elbows resting on them, her face slumped down into her hands, looking curiously at Torian and everything on the table.

“What are you planning here, Cadera?” she asked, taking a deep breath, smelling the exotic scents from the items laying across the table—herbs and spices that tickled her nose.

“Tiingular,” he said, tossing some kind of vegetable up in the air, catching it and then slamming it back on the table, striding over, reaching past her to grab a knife from the stand behind her, his shoulder pressed into hers, as his stomach stretched across her knee, then turning to go back to the table.

Shivers ran over her skin from his proximity, she shifted to sit up straight, wondering if he were so unaffected. She noticed his hands lay flat on the table for a moment, the knife placed down, his body moving as he took in a deep breath, then picking the knife back up, his hand wobbled a little when it came down for the first slice.

_Not so unaffected._

She smirked at his back, lulled by the sound of the knife hitting the table in quick succession, like it was forming a beat to its own music.

_He cooks. Lucky me._

“Where did you learn to cook anyway?” she asked, genuinely curious, she couldn’t think of another man she knew who was comfortable in the kitchen unless he was eating. She noticed him huff out a breath.

“Not well liked. Not part of the clans, even called part of Clan Ordo—they accepted me as a brother, as a son, but, still not truly accepted,” he said his back stiff, the knife stilled, “You learn what you have to do in order to stay alive. Even as a child.”

He shrugged, the knife clicking on the table again, pausing to look over his shoulder, “Had an elder teach me, didn’t want me to starve. Took pity on the arue’tal.”

She knew that she had to talk to him about his past, _really talk_ about it and not just what she had gleaned stealthily either, and just last night he had told her point blank that he intended to talk to her about it—they had both agreed on it, but it hurt her to do it, because he always seemed to be in true physical pain every time they discussed anything from his past. The wounds were still raw and fresh, and she had yet to be able to help him heal them.

He turned back to cut up the next item, his back stiff from the word still hanging in the air, the air floating with the harshness of it. She decided it was definitely time to change the subject.

“Will I like it?” she asked, honestly a little confused about what made this food different from other food she had eaten, as far as she knew she’d never had Mandalorian food before—at her adoption she had been too nervous to eat, so she had zero experience with it.

Torian stepped around the table so he could look at her while he continued to chop the foods on the table, making her tilt her head sideways, studying him, as he lifted his eyes to look at her while still chopping. He was clearly a professional, not even remotely worried about cutting himself, he was so skilled. His hand a blur as he sliced the next item.

_Wonder what other skills he might have with his hands._

She quickly cut that train of thought off—feeling the already telling warmth spreading across her skin. He looked down to get another vegetable to cut up.

“Depends,” he started to talk glancing back up at her, but then stopped abruptly, his knife stilling where it was, “You okay?”

Her eyes widened at the question.

“You look flushed, is it too hot in here?”

She realized that her thoughts had processed and flew out into the room when Torian shuddered softly, a quizzical look crossing his face before he schooled it.

She looked down at her clothes, her normal sleep clothes, not something she ordinarily wore out of her quarters. She was completely flustered and embarrassed and lacked the brain cells in the moment to come up with a reason she had to go back into her room after she’d slammed into Torian.

She could think of a hundred now.

_I need to put some clothes on—simple._

_I need to check on my pet fish—he doesn’t know I don’t have one._

_I left the oven on—okay so the oven is in this room, that wouldn’t have worked, probably._

_I can’t stand here half naked in front of you—the word naked and Torian in the same room. Nope._

_I need to run and hide from you now—yes, that’s the one that might have worked._

Well, they weren’t all legitimate excuses. Of course, had she delivered an excuse to him—he might not have stayed to cook, and then she wouldn’t be sitting here watching him cut food up and be so…Torian. So here she sat barely dressed in front of him, in clothes she used to _sleep_ in, and he is asking her if she’s what…. _hot_?

_Really?_

“I’m fine,” she muttered waving her hand at him, “go on then!”

“Just let me know, I can turn the oven down, I was just getting it warmed up faster,” he gestured toward the oven with his knife, to which she waved her hands dismissively again, he nodded, picking their conversation back up, “It depends, do you like spicy foods?”

She pondered this for a moment, lost in thought of what kinds of foods she had eaten that were spicy, contemplating it.

“Well, cons--,” he glanced up at her then, his words caught in his throat, having meant to offer a smile, some encouragement about the food she’d be trying, but instantly realized it was a huge mistake as she was counting something on her fingers.

The way she was now sitting, her legs having dropped down off the counter, swinging gently, gave him the most exquisite view of her, so much skin, so many curves that were normally hidden behind metal and leather and layers of more metal and leather. This was the first time he’d seen her out of her armor or her normal training suit that might as well be armor for the way it covered her from head to toe and did nothing to accentuate all of the feminine parts of her that he now knew were exquisite. He’d always imagined it to be so, but she was far more lovely than his mind had contrived.

_Beautiful._

_Inside and out._

Torain cleared his throat, trying to unmuddle his head in the process, finding his voice again, “Consider it a test then, they say that any woman who can handle a plate of tiingular is a _keeper_.”

For her own excuse of missing the entirety of Torian’s flustered response to her, Raeyn was consumed by trying to think of the number of spicy foods she’d eaten, which was surprising low…her mind picking up a little late on what he said about the Mandalorian saying of what makes a ‘keeper’.

_I’ll eat a frakkin’ ton of the stuff to be kept by you, spice or not. That sounds horrible._

She grinned mischievously.

_Not even sorry._

For his own salvation Torian was tremendously relieved when she resumed her previous position of her legs being tucked up, her arms resting on them, with her head in her hands looking at him. He realized he had stopped chopping and quickly began again. The clicking keeping time to his wildly beating heart.

_It’s a miracle I haven’t cut off a finger already. What is she even wearing!?_

Raeyn’s eyes were watching his hands handle the vegetables, so he took the chance to really look at her now that the initial shock had abated. His eyes moved over her, so much to see, to worship, her skin was so light, and it looked so soft, creamy—like warm vanilla sugar candy that he had as a child, rich and —smooth and sweet. She even had sweet powder dusted on her skin, giving the pink glow of her skin a sparkling sheen from whatever Mako had her doing before he’d arrived.

His mind filled instantly with a vison of licking the sweet powder off her arm straight up to her shoulder.

His mouth actually watered.

_What the ever loving hell._

He slammed the knife down on the table, clearing his throat and abruptly stepping out of the room—going down the hall without any explanation.

Raeyn was sitting with her mouth open, startled by the loud sound the knife made when he slammed it onto the table and his leaving had barely registered before he was already walking down the hall, trying to figure out what she’d done wrong, wondering if she should go after him.

He came back into the room before she could make a decision, setting up the large ventilation fan from the storage area into the doorway pointed straight at her and turning it on, the air blowing her hair back off of her face. She looked at him questioningly.

He walked over to her, his eyes burning, wild with an emotion she wasn’t familiar with, holding out some kind of white fabric in his hand. She looked down at the cloth, unsure. He gestured out to her to take whatever it was, his eyes on the floor between them. She pulled the fabric from his hands, shaking it out and then holding it up to see what it was.

A white button up shirt, three times her size, clearly something of Torian’s. She smirked, lowering the shirt she was holding up to peek over the top of it at Torian, who had moved back to the table, resuming the clicking sound of the knife hitting the table while he chopped, his eyes fixed on the table.

He didn’t even look up at her, just kept his eyes on the…whatever he was cutting up, “Ged’etye.”

_Please._

She nodded, having no shame but admonishing herself that she probably should given the fact that he responded so strongly to her lack of proper clothing. She hopped down off the counter, turning away from him, slipping the shirt on quickly, lifting the fabric to her face, inhaling sharply as it carried the scent that was all Torian. Trying to not make a satisfied noise from the experience, she shook her hips from side to side in a happy dance, while also trying to figure out how to keep the shirt.

_Forever._

She took the time to button each button all the way from the top to the bottom. The shirt reached to her knees and covered her arms as well, the sleeves falling over her hands—which she pulled through, rolling them a bit to cuff them.

She turned around, seeing that Torian had taken a seat at the table, holding a bowl in his hand with a pestle, grinding up some type of seasoning for the recipe he was making. She held her arms out as if presenting herself to him when his eyes glanced up at her.

His hand froze in mid motion. His eyes moved across her form the way he took in all the weaknesses of one of his prey. His body tensed in a way that was unique to him, she saw it all the time out in the field, the way every muscle, every system responded to the hunt—the way instinct took over and he moved with such fluidity, like he was one with the air, one with the universe. Raeyn noted the subtle changes in him now but wasn’t super clear on what was happening, dropping her arms to her side, turning to glance behind her to see if there was something she was missing, but finding nothing—then realizing—unable to stop the flush that spread over her body—it was because of her.

A low growl came out of him then, something different than what she heard in the heat of battle.

Suddenly, the chair slammed backward into the wall with a furious crash, the table legs made a harsh grinding noise as his hands pushed it, and he was there, grabbing her around the waist—his hands wild with need, breeching the distance between them before she could even process it, his lips landing on hers, devouring, taking, begging without words.

Instantly, she had a push dagger clenched in her fist, ready to slam into his throat, self-defense mechanism’s ruling over her mind, his hand came up grabbing her arm, clenching her wrist, stopping its motion, not even looking, still the skilled hunter even when his attention was diverted to her.

He pressed her backward until she hit the counter, one of his legs pushing between hers, bowing her backwards, towering over her. He pulled the hand with the dagger backward until she dropped it, then he grabbed her hand and pulled it to rest around his neck, his arm then moved down to her waist and lifted her up against him, grinding his body forcefully against hers.

She caught up then, her right leg lifting to wrap around him, as he eased her onto the counter, her other leg moving around him, the discarded dagger skittering backward, his mouth moving across her face and down her neck, nibbling lightly, sucking, tasting the dusting of sugar on her skin, delightfully teasing. She felt the ship shuddering, the lights were beginning to flash, and she tried to keep her head together, but his mouth was so soft and warm against her skin, and she was losing herself in his touch.

She whispered his name, grabbing onto his hair and holding him there against her, her mind spinning from the emotions that were thick in the air, hers, his, theirs, lost in the sensations, the air around them heavy, she heard a light explode in the hallway.

He stilled, clenching his eyes shut. He heard the electrical buzzing from the lights, high pitched whirring as they strained from the electrical current Raeyn was pushing through the room. He laughed lightly under his breath, shaking his head as he rest his forehead on her shoulder.

He should apologize, he should tell her he didn’t mean to do that, but he _did_ mean it, he _wanted_ to. Had wanted to for so, _so_ long. He knew he couldn’t apologize for what he felt around her, not now.

_Not ever._

She stilled with him, worried she had done something wrong, not able to think too deeply on any level as the myriad of sensations around her were overwhelming. She pushed down a loud layer of feelings when she heard another light blow outside the room. Closing her eyes trying to block out some of the sensations.

The only movements were their body shaking with the ragged breaths they were taking. Seemingly coming back to his senses, he leaned back to look at her, his dilated eyes working to focus, trying to shake off the need he felt. The passion he exuded, she was returning tenfold, without her normal level of control—it was spiraling outward slamming into him. He was smothering in it.

“Haalur,” he whispered, his hands reaching down to grasp the edge of the counter, squeezing it hard, as he gulped in the air between them.

He leaned his head on her forehead, her hands still caught up in his hair, gently scratching his scalp as she soothed him, soothing herself by drawing her attention to him, knowing that this wasn’t part of his way of doing things—not her way either, but they were here together and she didn’t regret it—but worried he might.

He didn’t lose control. That’s not who he was. He was all about control. She wanted to let him have it.

She started to apologize, but he made a clicking noise with his tongue, seeming to know before she opened her mouth what she intended to do. He shook his head against hers, his eyes alight with a mixture of humor and severity at the same time. An odd mixture for him.

“Three things, Cyare,” he whispered, their breath mingling as he spoke.

“One, what exactly were you planning to do,” he held the dagger up between them, “with this?”

She snatched the dagger out of his hand and put it down on the counter beside them, her body shaking softly with her laughter, his hands coming down onto her legs to hold her still, his face tense and pained, the hunt clearly taking its toll on him.

“I’m sorry,” she knew he would know it was for all of it, “It’s just that you startled me, it was instinct….I swear I wouldn’t have actually hurt you,” she whispered, shrugging.

“Beroy'ika, always my little hunter,” he whispered, lifting his head to touch his lips to her forehead before ducking it back down again.

“Two, _where_ did it come from?” He had studied her pretty carefully, not just now either, for a long time—though for the moment she certainly didn’t have enough clothes on to be hiding a dagger, not even one as small as that.

She reached up, leaning back, and he reluctantly moved backward out of her space, to watch her pull her hair on the side up and back, revealing a line of weapons attached to the band that held her hair up, miniature, but clearly not without power, hidden where her hair would cover and conceal them. His eye brow shot up.

_Damn, she’s brilliant._

He reached over and moved her hair from the other side to see more weapons hidden there.

“In the spirit of sharing the truth about… _everything_ , this is probably the wrong time or something, and I’m an idiot and all that…but the weapons…my hair…umm…the thing is…” Raeyn took a deep breath, harsh and terrible as her nerves threatened to shake her to death, she reached up, taking her hands to the front of her hair, pulling slowly backward, as the wig full of weapons shifted and she pulled it off to hold it out in front of her, her head was covered in a cap that held her real hair underneath.

She couldn’t bear to bring her eyes to look at his face.

She used her other hand to pull the cap off her head, the long white hair spilling down past her shoulders as she shook her head. Her family all ended up with one of three kinds of hair. Absolutely none, perfectly white, or perfectly black. Her hair would not hold any color, and she wasn’t keen on always having white hair as it made her look…otherworldly, drew attention to her…made people ask questions—a very personal issue she knew—so she hid it while she had fun with making hair an accessory.

It wasn’t something that had ever really bothered her until now—when she actually cared about feeling beautiful and feminine and all of that other nonsense—and knowing that Torian was hopefully going to see her when she was not wearing one of her wigs she found she did care. Such an idiotic thing she’d never worried about, she had wigs of all sorts commissioned and had them match her outfits and changed them constantly. In some cultures, white hair was revered and seen as a sign of wisdom but in most it was just something that meant degrading things about age and such, she had no idea how Mandalorian culture saw it, she focused on the wig in hands, still refusing to make eye contact.

She wanted to cry from embarrassment because he was _so quiet_ , she wanted to look at him to make sure he wasn’t making a horrible face, but she couldn’t bring herself to take the risk, so she just turned the wig in her hands repeatedly.

“I should have probably shown you sooner but it’s a weird conversation, something that you just don’t bring up normally, I mean no one else would actually need to know this but you know, I know you do, but there was no right time…you couldn’t have possibly known…”

As she continued to ramble on, Torian had reached to take the wig from her hands, looking at the underside, and then at the weapons and the different mechanisms that concealed them.

His admiration blossomed, filling him with such happiness and joy knowing that she was his, and he was hers, there were just some traditions, some formalities, but somehow he knew and she knew in their hearts that it was the truth—that they were building something unique and beautiful in such an ugly world. His heart was caught up in his throat, swallowing down the thickness of the words that wanted to spill out to her—confessions of love, of a future, of promises, and truths.

_My girl is a warrior goddess._

He carefully set the wig to the side, slowly taking in the words that Raeyn was saying—realizing that she had spent the last few minutes on self-depreciation because…she what? Had white hair?

His hand reached out to touch a long strand that fell forward, his fingers rubbing together, sliding downward as he took in the silky texture—different than anything he’d felt before, than he’d ever seen before, not like normal hair, rather, it felt so soft and smooth, not like real hair, it shimmered slightly as the lights cast colors into it.  His fingers slid off the end of the strand he had been holding, his eyes moving up as her voice was growing more and more agitated.

“I mean, hair really is so stupid, and it’s stupid to even care about it, I don’t know why I even care about it, to be honest…I just…it’s…I’m so stupid…” her voice caught on the word as it tumbled out, holding back her tears, not wanting to appear weak over something that was simple vanity—she never cared before and she wanted to curse that she cared now, “I know that it’s ridiculous to be so jealous of other women with ‘normal’ hair, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t envious...”

“Cyar’ika, they should _long_ to be you,” he stopped her hands which had been shaking violently in front of her as she spoke, shushing her softly, gently, to make sure she knew that he wasn’t upset with her, his eyes drifting over her face, her hair, then pulled her hands down between them as he leaned his head onto hers,  “Val copaanir cuyir gar, ori'haat. Women should have no greater desire than to be _you_. You are beautiful, perfectly flawless, a fierce and resolute warrior, your beauty is not held in your hair— kandosii'la—captivating as it is—any more than it is held in your hands, or eyes, or any part of your body—it is held in your runi, your _soul_.”

His eyes moved across her face, taking in the way she held her breath as if she was trying to believe what he was saying.

_I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you._

He leaned his head up to kiss her forehead softly, then back down to catch her eyes, “You take my breath away.”

A tear slid slowly down Raeyn’s cheek as she felt the truth of his words wash between them, his aura lit up with bright, brilliant colors that reflected his affection and acceptance.

His hands reached to cup her face, his thumb sliding to wipe the tear away from her eye, as he whispered, “Ni kar'taylir darasuum.”

She knew these words, her heart stopping in her chest, breath caught as they moved through her—breathed bright light into the darkest recesses of her essence—and she’d learned these words in hopes she’d be able to say them back to him one day—not even from Torian but from the holonet to keep it a secret. She took a deep breath as his love blossomed in his aura, responding, pushing her love forward to him, “Ni kar'taylir darasuum.”

His eyes sparkled brightly as the Mando’a words rushed like a raging river against every single cell of his body.

His lips gently sought hers out then, speaking slowly, less frenzied than before, with more direct purpose, the kind of kiss that took hold of you from deep down inside, anchoring you to the other person. Senses floating softly, the taste of sweet powder accenting the movement, his tongue brushing across her lips, coaxing her to answer, his hands holding her face between them, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks, a slow, sensuous movement filled with whispers of love and adoration and deeper words of need and desire. His mouth drew out her whimpers, answering with his touch, stepping into her, his shoulders curving inward as his mouth spoke words to her that his mind could not yet form, careful, delighting in her sigh, talking down to the very soul of her, and in its own voice it responded with equal volume, embracing the need, seeking and finding.

_Coming home._

Slowly, he withdrew, smaller touches, gentle pulls, softly soothing the burning running through them, a tiny noise of protest from her, he smiled, understanding her need, feeling it like a living thing in the room with them, his mouth tempered the fire with thoughts of what was yet to come, pulling her from the sanctuary they had found together, softly caressing her, kissing her forehead, his hands whisping across her skin, feeling the way her body was trembling, pleased that it had the same effect on her that it had him, holding her there for a moment and then leaning down, dipping his body so his eyes were aligned with her own to look into her eyes.

“ _That_ should have been our first kiss.”

She was too flustered and undone to even formulate a proper response, just nodding that she understood, her hands clenched so hard in his hair it had to be hurting him, she released it, her hands still curled, wanting to grab him back, but she shifted them, down to his shoulders. He reached up and pulled them down, holding her hands in his own between them, lifting them to kiss them gently.

“Third,” he whispered, smiling at her that crooked adorable smile that melted her every single time, “if you want to eat tonight?”

He paused there, and she nodded that she was looking forward to eating.

_Cause I am a frakkin’ keeper._

“ _If_ you want to eat tonight,” he nodded his head with her then, matching her movement, “I’m gonna need you to go put some _other_ clothes on.”

Her face flamed like it had been hit with a blast from a torch, ducking her head, trying to move away from him, he burst out laughing with amusement then, pulling her into him, her face buried in his chest as she came down off the counter and stood hidden in his arms, his head above hers, shaking with mirth as he kissed the top of her head.

 

* * *

 

 

She ate two bowls of tiingular that night. Just to make _sure_ he knew.

He, _of course_ , already knew—but laughed when he kissed her pinked, spiced tingly lips goodnight, “So…I guess you’re definitely a keeper, huh?”

She shoved him playfully, giggling in a very un-Raeyn like way, “You knew that!”

“I did,” he admitted, grasping her hand between them, lifting it to place a kiss on the top of it, not ready to say goodnight.

She began to draw her arm away, hating to let go as she turned to go to her room on the other side of the ship, “Yep! Next are Mando’a lessons!”

He pulled her hand quickly before it left his, causing her to tumble back toward him, catching her in his arms, his face inches from hers.

“Jate'ca, Cyare,” he whispered, smiling brightly, eyes twinkling with newfound joy.

“Hmm….” She twisted her mouth up sideways, her head tilting as she considered what he might be saying, he held his breath at how absolutely adorable she was and wanted to kiss her again, but instead waited patiently for her to guess the words, “Goodnight?”

He nodded, but before he could say anything she admitted, “I don’t know what Cyare means though.”

He lifted his hand up, brushing the hair away from her face, tucking it behind her shoulder before he leaned down placing a soft kiss on her temple, sighing into her ear as he breathed the word, “Beloved.”

Her sleepy eyes cleared, as he leaned back up to look into her now brightened face, pink and glowing at the admission, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She drew her hand up, stroking his cheek, “How do you say ‘warrior’?”

“Verd.”

“And…how do you show ownership?  As if to…to say ‘this is mine’?” She whispered, her eyes fixed on his.

“Ner…” he tapped his chest once with the palm of his hand, “…mine.”

Raeyn nodded, her hand reaching forward to lay across his hand over his heart, the words feeling foreign and strange in her throat, but flowing outward in a simple phrase, a new name given life through her heart, “Ner’verd.”

Torian’s smile was instant, lighting up his face in the dark hallway, he leaned down, knocking his forehead gently against hers before letting it rest there, “Yes.”

She stepped forward, her face turning to the side as her arms wrapped around him, his arms meeting behind her back as she squeezed him as tight as she could around the waist, humming softly at the sound of his strong heartbeat against her ear matching her own in rhythm and tone.

One of his hands drew up, sliding under her hair, to cradle her head against his chest, his eyes fluttering closed as he breathed deeply in the beauty of this moment.

_Always._

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BEING SO AMAZING I POSITIVELY LOVE YOU ALL! It means more than I could ever express that you take the time to review and respond and even just READ what I write. I am truly humbled by each of you! <3 
> 
> Translations:
> 
> haalur [hah-LOOR] breathe
> 
> Beroy'ika [bair-OY-EE-kah] Little hunter
> 
> cyar'ika [shar-EE-kah] darling, sweetheart  
> _____________________________
> 
> Val copaanir cuyir gar, ori'haat.
> 
> [vahl KOH-pan-EER KOO-yeer gahr, OH-ree-haht] 
> 
> They desire to be you, it's the truth.
> 
> _____________________________
> 
> kandosii'la [kan-doh-SEE-la] stunning, amazing
> 
> runi [roo-NEE] soul (poetic only)
> 
> _________________________________
> 
> Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum
> 
> [nee kar-TILE garh dah-RAH-soom]
> 
> \- colloquial: I love you. Literally: I know you forever. 
> 
> _____________________________
> 
> Jate'ca, cyare.
> 
> [JAH-tay-kah, SHAH-ray]
> 
> Goodnight, beloved.
> 
> __________________________
> 
> Ner'verd [nair-vaird] My warrior.


	12. Tea'gemte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pronunciation Guide for Character Names:
> 
> Xaraeyn [ZAY rain]  
> Raeyn [rain]  
> Xayoimea [ZAY oh ME]  
> Andronea [AND ron EE uh]  
> Tai [tie]  
> Androxyn [AND rocks zin]  
> Nikolaes [NEE coh lace]  
> Xaya [ZAY uh]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who has been so kind--still writing reviews and comments, and sending me messages while I was away. I can not begin to express how very, very thankful I am and how TRULY humbled I am by your thoughtfulness and care. I am fully committed to finishing this story, so thank you for hanging in here with me. I've been facing some very complicated challenges in my real life and my writing has truly been a point of loss for me as I have missed my happy place because I lost my way. 
> 
> Just...thank you all. You are more than I could ask for. I appreciate you, every read, every kudo, every comment, straight from your action to my very heart. ((((((((((((((squishes))))))))))))))))))
> 
> Just a couple of translations in this chapter, as always they are available on pop-up here or you can get them here:
> 
> Tumblr Post: http://simplicity-writes.tumblr.com/post/160293082596/the-pages-between-chapter-12-teagemte
> 
>  
> 
> ______________________________________________________________

 

* * *

 

Torian drew back, rolling his shoulders lightly before crouching back into a defensive position, seeing out of the corner of his eye Raeyn stepping forward to try to ensure she didn’t get blocked into a corner. He wracked his brain trying to come up with a plan that might shift the balance in their favor, but he continued to come up empty.

They’d been fighting two Sith Lords, both insanely powerful and somehow collectively all of their skills seemed equally matched. What he and Raeyn seemingly lacked in force skills, they more than made up for with their agility and fighting skills.

He had no idea who they were, just that they were someone that Raeyn said needed to be ‘taken care of’—which could mean any number of things he had come to realize—mostly it was a quick and humane death—as Raeyn herself admitted she didn’t ‘have the stomach for that torture business’, sometimes it meant turning the person over to her benefactor…rarely, the people they hunted were allowed to leave—none of it mattered to him really—the hunt was the hunt—and he was happy to be a part of it…and more than that he was thankful to be able to keep an eye on Raeyn as he couldn’t stand to be apart from her at this point.

Whatever else, whoever else these two Sith were—they certainly were mouthy—and their ongoing banter back and forth, undoubtedly meant to taunt him and Raeyn into overplaying their hands—was making Torian want to end them quickly if for no other reason than to make them shut up.

The Sith closest to Raeyn had revealed himself to be called Evgen, the one that was further away from her but closer to where he was positioned was Lindel.

The taunts were one thing, certainly, but what wasn’t easy to overlook was that as they fought, the Sith were drawing more and more strength from the force around them. Raeyn stomped the floor, hissing, drawing his attention to her. He glanced to her, questioningly, where she was pointing down to the floor which had lightly glowing markings on it. Torian nodded when he realized there must be a vault of artifacts underneath them, allowing the Sith to access the power from them. He took a moment to study the markings on the floor, understanding coming at a harsh price, knowing they had been using the runes and markings to bolster their strength.

_How could we be so stupid?_

He was especially concerned when he realized that the Sith’s plan, clearly, was to wear them down completely and then go in for the kill. Keeping them on defense long enough that they would grow weary and become easy targets.  The Sith had positioned themselves between them and the doorway, on the platform that spanned the entry wall—with three tiers of rounded steps that drew down into the room.

Torian and Raeyn had managed to hold their own for quite some time, though he could tell that his arms were starting to weaken—certainly his responses were not slow but still sluggish compared to his normal sharp return. He kept his eye on Raeyn, realizing that she was working on an exit strategy as her eyes bounced around the room from place to place. Realizing that they’d put quite a distance between one another, he began edging backwards to get closer to her so he could move fast when she gave the signal. He’d only shifted a few inches when his attention was drawn to the doorway, where another Sith had blown the ornate doors off the hinges, the wood slamming to the floor, sailing down the steps as shards went flying off in multiple directions across the room. One larger piece hit the toe of Torian’s boot, he crouched down, ready to spring if needed.

The Sith stormed into the room, a purple energy swirling around him, floating in puddles around his feet, his arms bent at the elbow, fists drawn forward, as if he were going to punch upward with both hands—the rage radiating from him like another living being in the room as he came to stand between the two Sith they had been fighting.

_We might have had a chance against these two, but this one…there is no way._

Evgen and Lindel smiled, realizing he was there to help them, bitter, hateful, ugly smiles—their posture loosening as they realized they had just won the fight.

This Sith was taller than the other two, his countenance one of danger, there was no other word for it, he oozed it. His head was bare, his skin an ashen grey color, with bold markings upon his head and face, typical of a Rattataki, his bright white eyes standing out against the pallor of his skin as he clenched his fists harder, causing the air around him to ripple with energy. His chest was rising and falling with the raw fury that was emanating from him, his robes open to his abdomen, showing his muscles flexing from the power of his rage.

_There is no way._

“You will NOT!” the Sith bellowed, his body curving forward, his voice shaking the walls around them.

Torian crouched down low, meaning to jump forward to the Sith to at least give Raeyn the chance to escape. He’d gladly give himself to protect her—though he couldn’t imagine he would last long after all three of them attacked—he knew all she really needed was a window, no matter how slight.

Before he could react, his eyes were drawn by movement in his peripheral--Lindel had shifted closer to him, his eyes focused above where he was standing. Torian looked up to see the wall he was next to shaking. He looked back to Lindel, his hand up in the air gathering the force, preparing to whip the stone wall down onto him to no doubt crush him to death.

His mind raced through different options as quickly as he could, realizing he really didn’t have any.

_There isn’t enough time to get away, it’s not possible. I’ll make sure she gets out of here. Raeyn, I lo…_

Raeyn’s agonizing scream broke his thoughts, whipping his head to the side to look at her, thinking she might have already been attacked in the short moments that had passed. His body tensed to respond, despite knowing there would be little he could do, at the same time a force of sheer terror, of dread, of mourning washed across him, his hand flying up to grasp his chest where his heart was suddenly wildly responding to the instantly induced emotions.

“NO!” her voice was a like a wrecking ball, a shaking beginning underneath his feet, as if the foundation of the room was groaning. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing—she’d dropped her blasters on the ground beside where she was standing—the sound of the metal hitting the marbled floor loud in his pounding ears—his eyes widened, worried at her becoming defenseless. Her body rotated to fully face him, eyes fixated on his, boring through him—seeing him but somehow… _not._

Her hands were beside her hips, her elbows bent to her side, her palms were raised as if to reach out for him, her feet set apart and one of them back in a stance that screamed ‘fight’, her eyes focused, in a way he had never seen before. He tried to speak to ask what was happening but before he could get a word out, her hands slashed forward, extending straight out toward him, the palms opened up, facing him, as if she were shoving something out of her way. The air from the movement whooshed past him, blowing him slightly backward, he shifted his feet to steady himself, hearing Lindel to the side of him, struggling to keep from falling as well.

The sound of debris, bits of rock and sand falling from the walls to the ground below filling his ears while he tried to balance himself, trying to stand to move to Raeyn.

Suddenly, something that felt like hands all around him took hold, grabbing him and jerking him, his head snapping backwards as his body went flying forward as if launched from a catapult, toward Raeyn, then landing, rolling behind her, head over feet, until he stopped in a heap. A groan pushing out of him as he tried to right himself, feeling like every bone in his body was wobbling.

_What just happened?_

“Raeyn…” he whispered, confused, trying to focus on her through his muddled mind, “…what?”

She was staring at him, as if studying him, ignoring his question, but nodding as if a query of her own had been answered. She turned away from him, though he could still see her clearly, she wasn’t paying any attention to him. She had shifted down low, her posture predatory--squaring off with Lindel who had been trying to bring the wall down on him. Her hands were clenched to her sides as she swayed to the slow rumbling of the floor under her feet.

Her hand reached forward, her entire body shaking as she rose up in a fluid motion, the floor beneath them moaning and vocalizing the stress it was under, the runes in the floor beginning to crack, the glow they were emitting before turned to a bright white light that was making the floor appear to be moving under their feet. He could hear noises from outside battering the walls like the wind was trying to push them over, angry, unrelenting. The ceiling of the room rattled as a barrage of hail began to hit it, echoing off the open space. Torian watched as a part of the ceiling caved in, ice and rain showering into the far corner.

He looked back to Raeyn, trying to understand when suddenly, her hands shot forward, her fingers still clenched into a fist at first and then her fingers shot outward—he saw a drip of blood falling from her hand down to the marble floor under her—her hands having been so tight her fingernails must have been biting into her palm.

He wanted to help her, stop her, do something, but he couldn’t move, he was mesmerized by her—he’d never seen anything like her, her long white hair was flowing around her—as he’d convinced her to try going without the wig more and more often—of course, for his own selfish reasons as he absolutely loved to see and touch her hair. He felt it was a pity to have it hidden all the time underneath a wig no matter how lovely she looked in one— _nothing_ was like her real hair.

He took in her current posture, her hair was brushing back around her, like it was being moved by the air in the room, almost as if it were alive, fanning out and moving lightly in the air. The white tone of her hair was now glowing softly, the colors of an opal gem radiating outward from it—something that her hair hinted at somehow day to day when he’d study it—but this, this was something other—something breathtaking as hues of blues, pinks, purples, and colors he had no name for swirled from not just her hair but seemingly her entire body, puddling like thick clouds on the ground by her feet.

_“My siblings nicknamed me ‘tea'gemte’ when we were young—it means ‘Little Angel’—but…it upset me so much—my father made them stop, though they still whisper it when they think I can’t hear them. I just wanted to be me, just Raeyn—not something…other. Not angel or devil. Just Raeyn.”_

Her words echoed in his mind, and now he understood— _this_ is the ‘Angel’ her siblings saw.

_Tea'gemte._

_You could never be ‘just’ anything, Cyare. Never._

He looked past her then, to see Lindel’s eyes growing wider and wider, an odd squeaking noise rising from him, as his feet lifted off the ground, his hands grasping at his throat, then his chest, and his stomach. His eyes shot back to Raeyn where she stood vibrating with rage, her entire body both stilled and moving at the same time. He blinked trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

A low, furious noise was bubbling up inside of her, released in a wild scream, Lindel’s body suddenly lifted up sideways, twisting violently, as if he were just an old rag being wrung out, the room filled with strange popping and snapping noises, blood splattering across the floor under him, the marble wall beside him, and then his body flew across the space to the wall he had been trying to bring down, hitting it and bursting into a rain of ash and dust. The cloud of the debris burst outward obscuring his view of Raeyn for a moment.

Torian couldn’t move his eyes away—from where Raeyn was standing, from the dust that was floating through the bright flashes of lightening that was now coming through one of the cracks in the wall, thunder echoing around them as what once was a Sith Lord drifted in the air—now merely dust floating across the air like any other speck of matter.

He jerked his head to the side as he saw Raeyn emerge from the settling debris, coming toward him, his breath caught in his throat as his eyes took in her beauty, trying to memorize the symbols that were glowing brightly across her entire face, all of her exposed skin, and her normally green eyes which were bright, too bright, a color he couldn’t understand, a reflection of the colors around her, white but every color at the same time, as she stormed past him toward the other Sith, Evgen.

He shifted carefully so he could see her better, propping himself with one hand on the floor as the ground rumbled underneath them, seeming as if something was trying to rise up from underneath the ruins, with the wind outside howling like a wild animal as it battered against the stone walls.

Evgen was being held against the wall there, looking like he was pinned by a thousand tiny pins, completely incapable of movement, held only by what appeared to be the very will of the third Sith, who wasn’t even looking at him but was rather watching Raeyn cross the room in a fury.

“I said _no_.”

He spoke so loudly it vibrated Torian’s heart in his chest, he could hear the voice _inside_ his body, not just through his ears. Torian’s eyes widened when she flipped her hand as she flew past the Sith, his face jerking sideways as if he had been slapped even though she hadn’t even been near him. She was at least twelve feet from Evgen when she suddenly launched in the air, landing on him where he was pinned to the wall—his face frozen in fear, completely mute. She had her hands on each side of the Sith’s face, a low, menacing noise echoing through the room, as blood began to seep slowly through the pores of his skin, a drop of blood forming in the corner of his eye, pooling and then slowly running down his cheek as his throat filled with a gurgling, choking sound.

“Xaraeyn,” the third Sith whispered, stepping close to her, “Stop.”

Her hands stopped moving, Torian could tell her fingers were digging into the Sith’s skin, and it was clear she intended to kill him—slowly, painfully. He deserved nothing less in his opinion.

She stiffened, the low noise stopping as a sound of surprise echoed as her head jerked to the side when the Sith’s hand touched her shoulder. Torian wanted to run across the room and stop him, unsure of what was actually going on between them. Raeyn turned back to look at Evgen, he noted that the Sith’s face was partially unfrozen, moving into an expression that was horrified, full of fear at what she was going to do to him. Raeyn suddenly loosened her hands, jumping away from him, the third Sith’s hand still resting on her shoulder. She looked down at her hands, blood dripping from the slashes in her palms from her nails. She sank slowly down, on her knees, pulling her hair with her hands, the crimson streaks a sharp contrast to her white hair.

Torian began inching his way toward her, needing to tell her she was okay. He had no idea if it were true or not, but something in him was screaming for him to go to her, to take care of her. His heart was wild with the emotions that were suddenly rolling off her, flying across the room and crashing into him, nearly knocking him backward from the force of them. Guilt, fear, mourning, remorse, so many negative emotions were slamming into him one after the other.

He heard another beat of thunder from outside the room and the hail turned to a steady thrum of rain on the ceiling, gasping, his hand pressing into his chest as he tried to control his response to the newest wave of feelings.

“I’ll take care of it,” the Sith turned his head, his hand still on Raeyn’s shoulder, and with a single glance Evgen slumped down, his body crumpling to the floor, and was no more.

Instantly dead.

The Sith turned then, getting down on his knees beside Raeyn, looking like a giant next to her tiny body, grabbing her and pulling her into his chest, holding her. His face twisted as he felt the first sob break through, her body shaking with the force of her tears, and Torian wanted to scream across the room at him that he was the one to do that!

“Saith'na, gege'ti, aer'e nm'tele ais sham, ais li'ltem. aemhe em, gege'ti, _tea'gemte_ ,” the Sith spoke softly, as he held her face to his chest, her body shaking, his solidly still, “Gege’ti.”

Raeyn’s fist flew up and hit the Sith hard on the chest, a growling scream echoing from the center of her, “Don’t call me that!”

The Sith actually laughed then, a deep belly laugh that felt wildly inappropriate at this point. Torian had managed to get up on his knees, taking a deep breath to prepare to stand up.

“I didn’t want to, rair'te emh'tel, I didn’t mean….I don’t know what happened,” she was talking through her tears, sniffling and trying to calm down, “Em aemtei, gege'ti, Neldae'na. I don’t understand…Torian—they killed him! I saw it!”

_What?_

He stopped where he was, one knee raised up, his hands resting on it, kneeling there in the floor, trying to make sense of what she was saying.

“Tai, he was _dead,_ completely broken on the floor,” she jerked her head pointing across the room to where she saw the vision, her eyes landing on Torian’s. Her expression mirrored his own shock, filled with wonder, confusion, drinking him in, her breath caught in her throat…he felt her from across the room like a tidal wave—relief, hope, fear, uncertainty.

“I’m here, Cyare,” he spoke, his voice not as solid as he would have wanted, shaken as he was, but firm, and consoling, trying to help her see he was okay, right there in front of her.

“But….Torian?” she reached out for him then, her hand opening and closing toward him like she was trying so hard to reach him, “Please, Torian!”

He stood up carefully, testing his bones and muscles, yet moved without hesitation toward her as her eyes clenched shut, shaking her head, “I can still see it, Tai…help me, I don’t understand!”

“Shhh,” the Sith stroked her hair back away from her face, urging her to look up at him, “I’ll help you, but it is not safe here.”

She nodded, wiping her hand across her face, blood smearing with every movement, turning to watch Torian walking over to them. He breathed through the pain in his leg, which had been bent into a strange angle when she’d thrown him, fairly sure there were no broken bones since it was bearing the weight reasonably well, closing the space between them finally.

He was thoroughly confused about how Raeyn had done what she had, he knew she was unique, and she had some strange abilities but this was different than just a mere force user—he’d seen, even fought next to dozens of force users, powerful ones, but the energy around her was something _other_. To say he was fairly confused about this Sith who was holding her now was an understatement. He held her with a level of familiarity, but Torian sensed no jealousy inside himself at the way he touched her.

The Sith looked up at him, a smile breaking the harsh lines of his face, “Did _not_ intend for us to meet quite like this, Torian.”

So, the Sith knew him, interesting, considering he had no idea who this person was in the least. He raised an eyebrow in return.

“My name is Andronea, you can call me Tai, that’s what most people I like call me, unless you happen to be a lovely little Twi’lek named Vette, then you call me ‘most handsome and wonderful husband in the whole universe’.”

Torian couldn’t help but laugh despite the seriousness of the situation, his eyes drifting down to where Raeyn had taken his hand, squeezing it tightly, he squeezed softly back, mindful of the injuries to her hand. He looked back up to Tai who was smiling broadly, when the assumed Twi’lek came in the door, walking across the floor to slap him on the back of the head, bending over to touch his head, kissing it softly and then kneeling down to grab Raeyn, pulling her into her arms, shushing her gently, rocking her softly like a baby.

Torian wanted to grab her away from the Twi’lek but knew better than to get on the wrong side of this particular Sith, just from being this close to him. He was radiating a strange energy too, different than what Raeyn had, but powerful he could tell.

“And if you don’t like them?” Torian asked lightly, still holding Raeyn’s hand gently, her grip having loosened a bit, attempting to seem conversational, squatting down to touch Raeyn’s head, breathing through the pain in his leg, stroking her hair softly, noting that the glowing of the marks on her skin and her hair was subsiding, going back to its normal state of white, nearly clear color, her skin looking unblemished, unmarred as it faded.

“They don’t live long enough to call me anything, actually,” Tai laughed heartily at that, slapping Torian on the shoulder like they’d known each other their entire lives. Torian had to release Raeyn’s hand in order to put a hand on the floor to keep from being knocked over by the slap to his back—groaning as he felt the pain radiate through his already sore body.

“Ship’s ready,” the Twi’lek said over top of Raeyn’s head, “…this happened….fast? Didn’t it? Was it like this for you, Tai?”

Tai shrugged at her, glancing around the room, alert for any hidden dangers, his senses tweaked and high strung.

“I’m Vette,” the Twi’lek nodded toward him, he opened his mouth to speak but she continued on in a flurry before he could, “I know you, Torian, and I promise things will make more sense once we are on board our ship and you have a proper explanation. For now, just know, you can trust us. Andronea is her brother, and he came to rescue her, and of course, you. I know there’s a lot of questions, and we probably…well, we might…maybe just have answers for them,” she shrugged then, “Fine, fine, we might not have ALL of the answers, but we’ll try—I promise, but not here, not now.”

Raeyn’s hand reached up to rest on his chest, his eyes snapping down to hers, where she was looking at him, her eyes wide and searching, still filled with something related to fear. He leaned forward, closer to her, pushing her hand into his chest so she could feel his heartbeat, his voice absolute, firm, “I’m here.”

She nodded, a small movement, her eyes narrowing slightly in affection, and then slowly her arm went limp as it appeared she was in and out of consciousness at this point. He carefully tucked her arm to her own chest, standing up, looking around at the floor that was still rumbling occasionally, protesting the abuse it had endured that day.

His eyes landed on Raeyn again, and then bounced to Tai, and then back again.

_How can they be siblings? Adoption?_

Confusion marring his features. A puzzle to be sure.

Vette could tell where his thoughts were taking him, “It doesn’t make sense, but yes, siblings, flesh and blood, same parents, same blood, you name it, I get it, crazy stuff, I tell ya!” her words rambled together, as she tapped Tai on the arm, careful to not bump Raeyn in the process.

Tai looked at Torian, as if he had been lost in thought and only just remembered he wasn’t alone. He stood up, bending down to pick Raeyn up into his arms, she appeared like a tiny child being held there surrounded by his massive body.

He walked over to Torian, gesturing her forward, like she was a package being delivered.

Torian’s eyes widened, reaching out with both arms as the Sith set Raeyn into them. She felt so small and fragile, so tiny and light, her body curling inward toward him, he wanted to close his eyes to relish the feeling. He lifted her upward to hold her closer to him, running his nose across her forehead.

“You’re gonna want to hold onto that,” Tai said with a wink, Torian looking up embarrassed by being caught…doing….something with this guy’s sister—Tai laughed lightly, turning away to head out the door without any other explanation.

Torian nodded, and followed along when Vette took his sleeve and led him to the door out into the now bright sunlight—mist floating up from the ground as it evaporated the moisture that permeated the ground after the storm had passed—he squinted trying to keep his bearings and rolled Raeyn into his chest to protect her eyes from the light. Vette walked forward to meet Tai at the ship, and Torian took a moment to glance down at Raeyn’s face, pressed up against the metal plating of his armor, looking so normal there, like she had just fallen asleep in his arms….on his completely cold, hard metal armor.

Okay, so maybe his mind was creating something better than what was…but surely, it mattered that she was there and he was there and they were both okay. Not much of anything made sense to him right then, but he knew for sure that this was where he was meant to be.

“Gonna hold onto this,” he muttered as he looked down at Raeyn who was sound asleep from the exhaustion of whatever had just happened to her, her face puffy and swollen, her eyes reddened and still weeping even in sleep, her face covered in tears, dirt, and blood, her hair tangled and matted with blood in it, drying, crowning her head in a wild disarray.

He studied her face, drinking it and realized he couldn’t be sure if he had ever seen her look more beautiful. She was breathtaking, absolutely exquisite—he couldn’t stop his breath from hitching as he studied her.

She had saved his life. She had rescued him. Today, but now, in thinking about it, from the very start…from the moment he saw her, maybe even before that.

_Gonna hold onto her._

* * *

 

 Torian was sitting on a crate beside a curved row of seats, clothes, bowls of water, and other miscellaneous items littering the area around him. Raeyn was laying on the rounded bench, with Torian’s shirt rolled up under her head for a makeshift pillow, looking very peaceful despite everything that had happened, still sleeping soundly.

Torian dipped the cloth back into the bowl of warm water, wringing it out and gently stroking it across her face, trying his best to not wake her, but to still be effective in removing the last of the blood and grime that had marred her features. He had spent several hours at this—a process made slow by his desire to not wake or disturb her.

He’d initially cleaned her hands, carefully washing away the dried blood and dirt, then cleaning out the gouges her fingernails had created, putting dabs of ointment in each cut and bandaging her hands as best he could with the supplies he had been given. He expected more from a Sith vessel, but then realized it was likely that they didn’t get hurt too often, and if they did, they probably could heal themselves.

When he’d inquired about what would happen if one of the crew was injured Tai had responded in no uncertain terms that he would never let that happen.

Torian believed him.

He’d spent an hour on Raeyn’s hair, soaking it and then carefully cleaning out the blood, bringing the shine back to it, as each piece went from a dull copper color to a bright, semi-transparent color reflecting the dim red lights in the area they were in. He ran his fingers through it cautiously, taking care to not hurt her, until it was clean and tangle free, drying it thoroughly as he went.

He dipped the rag again, then returned his attention to Raeyn, wiping off the last of the residue from her jawline, her face a bit pink from the rubbing he had done to remove the grime—but otherwise, unmarred. At least, no new injuries that he could make out.

He’d never been close to her like this before. He took the chance to study her, her skin was somehow translucent and now that the makeup she normally wore had been washed away with everything else, he saw the strange markings on her skin, barely noticeable even with everything cleaned away. His mind drifted back to when she was attacking the Sith and she had turned toward him and was bright light all around and there were glowing, shining runes that seemed to be coming from under her skin at the time.

He leaned further inward, shifting his body so that he could cast more light from behind him on her face. He could make out the faint, small shiny symbols, under her eyes, and now that he was near enough, he could see that they ran down her nose and to her lips as well. Another row fell in the lightest of differences in the tone of her skin across her cheeks—the markings seeming to somehow lie just under her skin. He leaned around her head, looking at her neck and found the same nearly invisible markings ran down her neck as well.

Having seen her mostly in armor—and even when functions didn’t require full armor—then she wore clothes that still seemed a form of armor to him—layered and made of a durable material that seemed to be impenetrable. Of course, when they were on board their ship, with just their crew she wore loose fitted black pants and high necked shirts generally, and always with makeup, always, now that he considered it. He startled when he realized that he never saw her with anything other than long sleeves and pants on so there’s no way he would have noticed these markings before.

Her eyelashes were thick, laying heavy across the tops of her cheeks, her rounded face full of peace despite what she had went through earlier.

When they had boarded the vessel, Vette had explained where they had sent Mako and their ship, while Torian had carried Raeyn to the closest horizontal surface, stripping off his upper armor, the extra layers from the frigid planet they had been on handy, pulling off his over shirt, rolling it up and gently lifting Raeyn’s head to lay her on it.

Despite not knowing anyone present he barked out orders of the things he needed like they all worked for him and he was only just now realizing that he had been fairly rude. They hadn’t questioned him though, just brought what he needed and then surprisingly left him alone with her to tend to her wounds and clean her. He’d managed to get the heavier pieces of her armor off her, but she still had her leg plates, and while he’d been able to take the top layer of her chest piece off, the base piece was held to her abdomen with a series of intricate buckles and snaps so he had left it in place. He had done as much as he could without risking waking her. Though if he knew anything about her he knew she loved noise while she was sleeping and the constant buzzing sound of the engines of this particular ship was probably as good as any lullaby he could provide.

He reached behind him and set the cloth into the bowl, sliding it across the table from him, leaning forward on his arms, resting his head in his hands, dropping his shoulders, closing his eyes.

_She’s okay, she’s fine…she’s gonna wake up and everything will be okay. Take a deep breath, Cadera, she’s okay._

He couldn’t count how many times he’d checked her breathing and pulse…he knew it was just his nerves but still, it set him on constant edge. His mind kept playing tricks on him—a level of paranoia he’d never experienced before awakening new inside of him—realizing that he cared more about what happened to her than he did his own life. He was prepared to die for her back at the temple, he would fall to any fate if it meant keeping her alive—and that was a completely unknown emotion to him. The desire to protect, to be a shelter. He’d been his own mountain, his own wall. He’d never felt vulnerable before.

 He found that he rather liked the warmth that spread through him as he considered that this wasn’t exactly a new feeling, but rather something that had been building up in him over the last few months.

_I love her. This is what that feels like when tested. This is what I was always missing._

A metallic grinding noise came from somewhere behind him in the ship. He turned, leaning backwards on the crate to look down the hallway, the light to the receiving hatch lit up. He wasn’t exactly surprised when a man appeared in the hallway, stomping as he approached, his voice bellowing in much the same manner Tai’s voice had.

“Force take the lot of you!” he shouted as he passed by Torian like he wasn’t even there, heading into the bridge, “I can’t even believe you went without me.”

_Another Sith._

Torian glanced back at Raeyn, who had not moved despite the loud noises. He reached his hand under her nose to make sure she was still breathing, relieved when he felt the heat from her breath touch his fingers. He realized that the markings on her face matched the ones the man who had just boarded the ship carried on his face, the same as Tai had—both of theirs were darkened, raised on their faces, but unmistakably matching to the ones he had seen on Raeyn’s face.

The man came storming back out of the doorway, the metal plate from the back of his belt grazing the edge of the doorway, and Torian absently wondered why they even put those odd triangular shaped pieces of metal on their armor.  The man stopped, glancing at Torian, “Where the hell are they?”

Torian wasn’t sure who the ‘they’ he was talking about could be but hazarded a guess it was Tai and his crew. He jerked his head behind him toward the other hallway. Torian noticed the man looked familiar but couldn’t really place it, unless it was just the similarity in his facial structure as that of Tai’s. His skin was very pale, and light, his lips were lined in black, shadowed, an odd thing since it was clear it was how his skin was formed, not some kind of makeup or lining—his eyes were a bright green, set with darkness around them, his eyebrows reaching up nearly touching the metal band around his forehead in some emotion Torian couldn’t quite get hold of.

“Thanks,” the man said, his eyes drifting over to Raeyn on the couch, one of his hands reaching up to pull at his short hair on top if his head, making the already spiky hair stand higher up, his eyes clenching shut as a moment of pain stained his face, and then his eyes snapped back to the doorway Torian had gestured to, stomping across the room and disappearing down the hallway, “I warned you! Aem e'lem 'tel'tehm aer! Get out here, Neldae'na!  Lem'ohge!"

Barely seconds had passed before the Sith flew out of the hallway, soaring past Torian, straight into the hallway beside him where he had entered from, landing with a loud crash. Torian kicked the crate away as he stood up, his body tense, moving between the doorway and the seats Raeyn was sleeping on—prepared to protect her, his hand reaching behind the couch to pull his staff forward.

He looked back at the doorway the man had flown out of to see Tai storming through the opening, seething, his teeth bared staring where the man had landed. Vette walked out behind him, shoving him dramatically, even though he didn’t actually move, her eyes rolling as she glanced at Torian, walking to where he was standing.

She touched his shoulder, leaning around him so he would look at her, “This is normal, they aren’t going to kill each other. You might as well get comfortable.” She reached around him tapping his staff with one hand, “You won’t need that.”

Torian looked at her with surprise, standing up and dropping the staff to his side, twisting his head around her to look at Tai who was still standing there looking like fury personified, when suddenly a chair came flying out of the hallway opposite him, jettisoned toward Tai, who waved his hand, deflecting it into the wall beside him. Sparks flying as the metal grinded into the sideplates.

“That’s Androxyn…he’s…how do I put it? Umm…he’s impulsive,” Vette whispered, pointing down the hallway to the man he could not see. He had a feeling that the word impulsive was a compliment compared to the truth.

Another item came flying out of the hallway past them, some kind of metal box, which Tai swatted away before it got to him, it slammed against the wall, dropping to the floor with a crash.

“He’s Tai’s twin, I know, I know, again, they don’t look alike, but it’s true, Roxy was born eight minutes after Tai, this is their normal way…of discussing things,” her shoulders raised in a shrug, “…. _brothers.”_

Another chair flew out of the door, crashing into the space Tai had been standing in as Torian jerked sideways to shield Raeyn when the blur of Tai leaping past them down the hallway flashed past him. The sounds of scuffling, grunts, and curses filling the air. He glanced down at Raeyn who was still asleep somehow blissfully unaware. He was surprised given it sounded like they were going to tear the ship down around them.

The console beside him began to beep and buzz, Vette turned around and tapped a few buttons and the hologram of a young woman appeared, flickering blue. Her mouth was set in a tiny ‘o’ shape, looking quizzically at Vette.

“Everything’s _fine_ , Xaya,” Vette intoned, trying to speak over the noise from the hallway, “Roxy is mad that Tai picked up Raeyn without him, he’s going to be fine. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to make sure she is okay,” the woman murmured, appearing to be a Jedi given the lightsaber attached to her waist and her clothing, her voice was soft and smooth, gentle by its very nature and Torian felt like it might be like a bedtime story on a stormy night.

Vette, having sat down on the crate Torian had kicked, reached over to tap him on the waist, gesturing for him to move to the side so the Jedi could see Raeyn. He quickly stepped sideways and away, giving the woman a clear view.

The Jedi sighed a sound of relief, “Good, she’s okay, that was too close.” Vette nodded at her. Torian’s patience was starting to ebb at how many people appeared to fully understand everything that was going on here except him, and he was promised an explanation hours ago.

The Jedi turned to look at him then, her eyes wide and calm, exuding peace and comfort, “Torian, it’s a pleasure to finally officially meet you, my name is Xaya, I am the youngest in our family—I’m sorry you are confused. It’s hard to know where to begin, we’ll all get this sorted, okay?”

He shrugged, embarrassed now that he realized she had understood what he was feeling even over the holocall, “It’s nice to meet you.”

They all turned to the doorway where the two brothers were trying to come through at the same time, Tai grabbing Androxyn’s head and holding him back as he passed through. They were laughing, whatever their issues having been settled while they were in the hallway.

Androxyn reached to his waist, clicking a button and pulling off his belt, the metal triangles falling as he took them and dropped them to the floor behind the row of seats. He walked back over to where they were all standing, grabbed Raeyn’s feet, plopping down on the cushion where they were, setting them back down in his lap, stretching his arms out around the back of the seats, “Well? What does the new kid know?”

Torian instinctively tossed out, “Not a kid.”

That habit was going to get him killed one day he was sure.

Everyone’s eyes turned to Torian, who shrugged his shoulders, not sure what they were actually wondering, since as far as he could tell he knew virtually nothing.

“He’s been taking care of Raeyn,” Tai gestured to her still form, “There hasn’t been much time for explaining.”

“What exactly where _you_ doing…” Androxyn took a deep breath then, his eyes closing for a moment, a wicked grin settling on his face, “Is that right?” One of his eyebrows shot up at this, staring at his brother.

Tai smirked, crossing his arms and his posture relaxing, his eyes drifting over to Vette, who giggled lightly and blushed in an adorable way only a Twi’lek could possibly blush. Torian was confused until Vette burst out.

“Look, _technically_ it’s still our honeymoon! Don’t be jealous, Roxy, just cause _your_ wife doesn’t even know you exist yet!” She stuck her tongue out at him then, he rolled his eyes in response.

“Not jealous, and don’t call me Roxy,” he muttered, one of his hands coming down to rest on Raeyn’s leg on his lap, Torian noted the way he affectionately squeezed it before he spoke again, “You can’t use the honeymoon excuse _forever_ , seriously, you can’t exclude the Aim’te, it doesn’t work that way. Plus, it’s just bad manners, I mean, who _does_ that?”

Torian understood then, his eyes landing on Raeyn.

_So that’s where they disappeared to. I mean if Raeyn and I were marri--_

Androxyn’s voice was sharp, biting, “Don’t.” The word was violent in the room, a suffocating air swirling around him, “Kid, I am not even kidding, do not even think about it, really. Just _don’t._ ”

Xaya sighed dramatically over the holo.

Torian looked over at Androxyn, confused, who reached up and tapped his head twice with his index finger, “I can’t turn it off. I don’t need to know about what kind of stuff you and my sister get yourselves into, thankyouverymuch, so please keep all thoughts of her in those kind of compromising positions out of your mind for my sake. I’d hate to kill you the first day we met.”

Torian’s hands drew up into fists, his body tensing, “ _Not_ a kid, and it’s _not_ like that. Don’t insult her that way.”

His voice was a hiss, and though he knew it was probably a bad idea to pick a fight with a Sith who had another equally powerful Sith as a brother on board of said Sith’s ship without any knowledge of where you were, why or where you were going, he wasn’t about to let them paint a picture that discredited Raeyn.

Androxyn was staring at Torian, his face impassive, then his hand came out in front of him, gesturing to shake Torian’s hand, “I see.”

Torian took Androxyn’s hand to shake it but was surprised when the man clenched it and didn’t let go for a moment, it happened so fast it would have been easy to think he had imagined it. There was a feeling of something digging through his mind, his memories, and just as quickly the feeling was gone and Androxyn had released his hand.

_I’m no idiot. I know what you just did. Did I pass your test? You understand now? I don’t see her that way, she’s no object. I wouldn’t treat her like that. Ever. It’s not my code._

“ _Do_ you see?” Torian asked sharply, pulling his hand back to his side, feeling insulted.

“I do,” Androxyn nodded, his posture relaxing, his head leaning back on the top of the couch, one hand coming over to pinch the bridge of his nose, “If you knew the kind of things most men think about when they see my sister, you wouldn’t blame me for my concern.”

“I’m not most men,” he hissed, his stance growing taller.

A male voice, new to the room, clipped accent, different than the others, amused, drawing everyone’s attention to the holocall where another person had joined Xaya, “That’s obvious since no ordinary man would challenge my brother in such a forward way.” The man looked just like the other two men in the room, save the fact that his hair was long and white, reaching down past his shoulders, and he didn’t have any obvious symbols on his face, though Torian knew that the holo might not be picking them up.

“Another brother, then?” he asked, turning fully to look at him, “How many of you _are_ there?”

“Correct,” the man responded, his hand waving forward to gesture to him, “Torian,” the man pulled his hand back, resting it on his chest, “Nikolaes. I see you’ve met everyone else, to save time—I’ll send along my resume if you’d like to see references but be prepared,” he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper, his face amused, his tone as if addressing a fellow conspirator, “between you and I most of it isn’t true.”

Tai rolled his eyes dramatically, gesturing to his holographic brother, “Niko is SIS. He is ridiculous and you should be glad he isn’t actually here.”

Nikolaes scoffed at this, looking pointedly at Andronea, “Aer em'elor, Neldae'na!”

“They’re all just jealous,” Nikolaes spoke quickly, “I’m the only entertaining one out of the whole lot, except perhaps for my Nu'tem'saer, though, I think we all know that your affection for her rests on a different plane than with us. That said, don’t pick your favorite until I’ve had the chance to take you out on Nar Shaddah, deal?”

Torian huffed out a laugh, “Sure, whatever you say, though I have to admit…” he stepped back and away from the group, outside of the circle, “This would all be much easier if I actually understood anything that is happening here. I think it’s about time someone offered me some long promised answers.”

They all glanced between one another, all eyes moving at once to the couch where Raeyn spoke softly, “Past time.”

She rolled onto her side, her eyes blinking rapidly, looking past everyone else to open wide, landing on Torian, who was stopping himself from rushing over to her.

Androxyn cleared his throat, reaching up to muss Raeyn’s hair, moving her feet off of him as he stood up, gesturing to his brother and Vette, who left toward the galley.

Androxyn stopped at the door, bowing slightly to Torian, his countenance issuing a type of apology, reaching down to grab his belt with the metal plates on it, his eyes gaining Torian’s attention, “The ‘triangles’ are actually centrifugally balanced force sensitive blades that come out when I spin toward an enemy, often slicing off an appendage or two, or if I am extremely fortunate, will take off a head in the process.”  

He smiled at Torian, the information clearly a peace offering, “…and you’ve met all of us, there are five, birth order, Andronea, myself, Xaraeyn, Nikolaes, and Xaya. You have not yet met our parents, and I am not sure when you might. Tai and Vette are wed…the rest of us, ah, well, it’s…complicated. Eventually, you will meet us all.” He turned to go out of the room, “Though I will hope they will each leave a better first impression.”

With this he nodded his head at Torian, who nodded back, accepting his apology. Torian watched him leave, starting to turn to Raeyn, when his head popped back around the corner, “Oh, and Torian?”

“Hmm?”

“Do _not_ let my brother take you out on Nar Shaddah,” Androxyn’s brows were drawn down, his tone severe, “Seriously, don’t.”

Torian laughed lightly, nodding again, positive he should take this advice under serious consideration—Androxyn appearing to be satisfied he understood the warning, disappearing around the corner. He turned to look back to Raeyn who was still laying there on the couch, but her arms were open, her fingers opening and closing rapidly, begging for him to come to her. He moved to the couch, dropping to his knees, leaning into her arms, which tightened around him dragging him down, her hand reaching up to hold his head close to her. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her forward to him.

He could feel her shaking, her hands grasping him so tightly, and he just waited, knew that she was processing something, and so he just let her hold him, and he held her—just breathing, taking it in, reassuring themselves the other was alive and safe and whole.

“I was so scared,” her voice was small, above his head where it was resting on her chest. He tried to lift his head to look at her, but she held him fast, not releasing him as her voice shook—he knew she was crying as the words left her mouth, “Torian, I’ve never been so scared before…of myself, of losing someone, of…losing you.”

“I’m here, I’ve got you,” he smiled at the words, pulling her impossibly closer.

She took a slow, shuddering breath, “I’m sorry. I planned to explain so much, for so long now—but I’m going to now…and there are things I just don’t understand myself yet…but I’d like to figure them out together—with you.”

He hummed softly, pulling his arms out from around her, pressing backwards as she slowly loosened her grip so that he could look at her. Propping himself up on one elbow, his other hand reached up to wipe the tear that fell from her eye.

“That’s how it should be,” he smiled, leaning forward to kiss her softly on the forehead.

“It’s a long story,” she whispered as he drew back, “some of it is intense, but something I can share with you in just a few minutes, if you would let me, I can show it to you, _here_ ,” at that she ran her hand around his head, indicating his mind.

He nodded, giving her permission…not remotely caring how or what she was going to do, his desire to know and understand outweighing any questions he had about method.

“It can be overwhelming, sharing history with someone, the things you see—it’s like you will experience them yourself…and the memories, they feel like your own memories. It can be disorienting and sometimes even painful, so if you want me to stop, you have to tell me, promise me?”

He nodded again, her breath shuddered beneath him.

“I promise,” he whispered.

_I promise you forever._

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you came back here, after all this time with me being gone, and you read this...can I just say from the bottom of my heart THANK YOU. Seriously, you can't even begin to know how much it means to me to feel needed and that my story is important to you. THANK YOU. 
> 
> _________________________________________________________________
> 
> Translations:
> 
> “Saith'na, gege'ti, aer'e nm'tele ais sham, ais li'ltem. aemhe em, gege'ti, tea'gemte,” the Sith spoke softly, as he held her face to his chest, her body shaking, his solidly still, 
> 
> "Sister, please, your beloved is safe, is whole. Hear me, please, Little Angel," the Sith spoke softly, as he held her face to his chest, her body shaking, his solidly still, 
> 
> Gege’ti : Please.
> 
> rair'te emh'tel : I didn't mean to do this
> 
> Em aemtei, gege'ti, Neldae'na : Help me, please, brother.
> 
> Aem e'lem 'tel'tehm aer! : Hell has come to take you!
> 
> Neldae'na! : brother
> 
> Lem'ohge! : come uncaged aka release the animal: fight me--strongest possible taunt
> 
> Aer em'elor, Neldae'na! : You wound me, brother.
> 
> Nu'tem'saer : Tiny Innersoul--his nickname for is sister


End file.
